Stroke
by Unproper Grammar
Summary: Saddled with a rising crime rate, vicious vilains and crafty crooks, Chief of Police Chad Danforth has his hands full cleaning up the city. Yet never would he have thought his best friend, Detective Troy Bolton and his wife Gabriella, were behind it all.
1. Prologue

For those wondering, this isn't the full fic. I know, I am sorry, ha ha.

So I did a lot of thinking before posting this. I am currently writing this sucker and originally intended it to be one chapter, but as I'm writing it, the word count is already insane and I haven't even gotten three scenes completed. I have fourteen planned. Length and word count is always fine and dandy, but I don't feel like saddling you all with a super long fic that's meant to be read in one go.

So I am splitting it up, also because I am interested in the response for this one...and we've had no updates as of late, so here's a little something fun. There probably won't be more than four chapters, but I feel I can pace myself better by splitting it all up. :)

Thanks for the support to those who've read sneak peeks! Next update soon!

As usual, for fun there is an accompanying soundtrack, this one fully uploaded with thirteen tracks. Lyrically, while they are relatable, this time around it's more about the overall sound and how they fit the mood of the story. So check out my LJ for that!

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"_Oh, we're not going to kill anyone! We're not going to take anyone's life! That's __**way**__ too risky! No matter what the reason, if a person kills someone, that someone takes on the weight of the murder."_

"_Weight?"_

"_Yes. And it's __**heavy**__! A near crushing weight."_

"_W-What is?"_

"_Quite a variety of things. And those who know them would __**never**__ take a life. __**Nothing**__ makes up for it."_

- _XXXHOLiC by CLAMP, Chapter One_

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**Stroke**

Prologue

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"Lookie here, brother of mine," a feminine voice rang through the empty apartment. "Take a look at what I scored in the missus' jewelry box."

The blonde man turned around slowly and looked at his twin sister. Rolling his eyes, he glanced at her wrist, a dainty strand of pearls hanging on it. "Why do you insist on stealing from people, Shar?" he asked, annoyed, as he placed the carton of milk back into the refrigerator.

Raising a light eyebrow, Sharpay Evans scoffed at her brother before leaning against the counter. "I do not insist upon anything, Ryan," she snapped, "I am simply taking my compensation."

Ryan Evans lifted the bowl of cereal he had prepared and brought a spoon to his mouth, taking a large bite. "I'm sorry, compensation? For what?"

"For doing this dirty deed, Ryan," she explained, examining her nails. "It's not like we get paid to do this bullshit, to take the time out of our days to make house-calls. To fuckers like these who don't pay up. When we finally set them straight, although we all get a fair cut of what the bastards owe us, I feel I deserve a little something extra given the circumstances and the fact that I am the one risking my life."

"You always offer to do these things, Shar," Ryan reminded her. "Besides, we're third in command, it's expected."

"The rest of the city certainly doesn't think that, though," Sharpay reminded him. "You know what they say, right?" She scrunched her nose, as if just realizing he was eating. "How can you eat at a time like this anyways?"

"Shar, this should be an easy raid, they have food and I'm hungry," Ryan said, chomping on his cereal. "There's little chance this guy will be armed and on the off chance that he is, you know how easily you and I can take him out. But yes, I know what people think."

Sharpay twirled her new bracelet around her wrist several times, thinking as Ryan ate quietly. "Does it ever bother you?" she asked diplomatically.

"Does what ever bother me?"

"The fact that the entire city knows we're criminals."

Ryan rolled his eyes and set down his bowl. "Sharpay, the entire city does not know we're criminals. In fact, technically speaking, out of the entire population, only a handful know."

"But you know the gossip, Ryan," Sharpay spit. "You know everyone thinks we're the ones behind it all. Because of daddy."

"Sharpay, I know that very well," he said simply, reaching down to his ankle and pulling up his pant-leg. He revealed his hostler and unbuckled his gun quickly, counting the number of bullets in his magazine. Six. Was that really a reasonable amount. "But to answer your question, no it doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?"

"Hmm," Sharpay said, sliding her hand inside her handbag that rested on the countertop. "Not at all." Pulling out the shiny silver pistol, she smiled wickedly. "In fact, I love it."

"You love it?" Ryan said, feeling that he should be surprised. But he wasn't. He had to admit, it was fun, being considered to hold all the power, have all the glory, but shoulder none of the responsibility. It was part of the tradition, had been so for years. They were the decoy, the distraction, and they wore their label proudly.

"Of course!" Sharpay said almost excitedly. "Everyone in this town things we have it wired! That we're the ones that decide whether a business succeeds or fails. That thinks we're the ones who dictate who stuffs it and who doesn't."

"But we don't, Shar," Ryan said with a sly smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right. We've got it easy."

Sharpay sighed, glancing at the clock on the kitchen stove. "Yeah, except it has it's downfalls."

"Like what?"

"Like these stupid missions!" she hissed. "Where the fuck are is this guy, Troy said he was due back around ten. That was an hour ago!"

"Calm down," Ryan said, though he was growing impatient as well. This was the downside of being third in command, especially when you shared the title with someone else. You didn't call the shots, and you were expected to make all the visits, do all of the housekeeping. It was a thankless job, but Ryan and Sharpay didn't mind. They enjoyed a little bit of action, a little bit of blood. They were former theatre students and any opportunity they got to be a little dramatic, they would take.

"All I'm saying is he had better show up soon," Sharpay said, tapping her foot, "or else I am using one of those pretty paintings he's got up there for target practice."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "And run out of bullets?"

Sharpay shook her purse and Ryan heard the clink of metal in the bottom. "I always have extra ammunition, stupid."

"Like you're going to have time to load your gun," Ryan said logically. "Oh, I'm sorry, just one sec while I fill up my magazine. Smart."

Throwing her head back, the blonde laughed. "Oh, please, Ryan, we both know I'm a perfect shot." She curled her hand so it resembled a gun and cocked it at him. "One shot and I'll nail them through the heart if they try any funny business."

Ryan grinned at his sister. "Statements like that remind me that we're related."

"No kidding," she said, coming to stand beside him. "So what's the bio on this guy anyways?"

"Name's Richard Grayson," Ryan said, rifling through the data in his head. "Head of a small, but successful, publishing company. Contacted the Boltons about six months ago in hopes of giving his business a little bit of a one up. They agreed."

Sharpay furrowed her eyebrows. "So what's the problem?"

"The problem," Ryan began, placing his bowl in the sink, "is that Richard hasn't paid up yet. Hasn't given the Boltons their share of the money."

"Oh shit," Sharpay said with a laugh. "Smart man."

"I know," Ryan said, grinning. "Thought he could pull a fast one on us."

Sharpay shook her head, folding her arms. "He should know better than to try that with Troy and Gabriella Bolton," she giggled. "What an idiot."

Suddenly, the both tensed, the turning of a key in the lock silencing them. They exchanged a glance and both reached for their guns, stepping out of the kitchen and entering the dimly lit living room.

Richard Grayson had arrived.

He was a short, plump man dressed in a brown suit with a burgundy tie. He was completely bald and seemed to be exhausted. Running a hand over his scalp, he flicked on the lights and jumped when he realized he was not alone.

"W-who are you?" he said quickly, pressing himself against the door. "What are you doing here?"

Sharpay smirked, pursing her lips. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson," she said, standing up off the couch and making her way over to him. The light caught the glint of her gun and Richard immediately stiffened. "We're your company for the evening."

"Who are you?" he hissed, panicked, "How did you get in here?"

Ryan smiled sweetly. "Why, Mr. Grayson, through the door of course!" Stepping forward also, he ran a hand through his hair nonchalantly. "Surely you must have more faith in us. We make sure to copy the keys of our, clients, so to speak, should the occasion ever arise that we should pay them a visit."

"And pay you a visit is what we're indeed doing," Sharpay cut in, walking across the living room and resting her palm on the shiny baby grand piano in the corner. The room was large, with marble floors that caused her heels to click louder than she would have liked, gorgeous paintings adoring the wine colour walls. Leaning against the piano she smiled.

"W-who are you?" Richard said, his voice shaking, "I'll call the police!"

Sharpay and Ryan exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter. "Oh, Mr. Grayson!" Ryan said, chuckling, "what a stupid thing to say."

Covering her mouth as she giggled, Sharpay tapped the lid of the piano with the butt of her gun. "The police can't help you!" she said, grinning. "Do you not know who we are? Does our hair not give us away?"

Richard blanched, trying to put the pieces together. Two blonde persons standing in his living room, armed and apparently willing to hurt him. What could that possibly mean?

Sharpay glanced at Ryan and batted her eyelashes, making a tusking sound with her tongue. "Seems he doesn't recognize us. Maybe we should give him a name?"

"Hmm, seems like a wise choice, sis," Ryan said, smirking. "Evans."

Richard raised his hands, the pieces of the puzzle finally coming together. "No, I'm sorry, I don't...you can't do anything!"

"Oh, but we can, Mr. Grayson," Sharpay said lowly, "this is a house-call. We're here on behalf of higher orders."

"No..." Richard murmured, a bead of sweat running down his cheek. "No."

BANG! A loud shot rang through the room as Sharpay shot a hole into the wall. "Oh yes, Mr. Grayson," she glared, blowing smoke of her gun and stepping closer to him. "Oh, yes." Looking at Ryan, she placed her finger over the trigger and pointed it toward Richard.

"Now, what did you say this man did again, brother?" she asked slowly, "something about not paying up? Not giving what is due to those who helped him?"

"Precisely, sister dearest," Ryan said, circling the trembling man like hawk. He pressed his gun into the man's temple. "I do believe that our dear friends helped him shape his little publishing company here and he has decided that, oh, wouldn't it be fun to try and hide a rather large sum of their earnings from him!"

Laughing uproariously, Sharpay fired another warning shot, this time into the leg of the piano, causing the beautiful instrument to collapse with a loud clang. "Oops. That shot will definitely have the cops here within six minutes."

"Did you hear that?" Ryan hissed, pressing the gun harder against Richard's flesh. "Six minutes till the cops come. Do you know what that means, Grayson?" The man shook his head and Ryan continued. "It's simple really. Shar and I have no problem with the cops, but they'll have a problem with us and considering we kind of like not being thrown in jail, we're just going to have to kill all of you so that there's no witnesses."

Richard swallowed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as the cool metal pressed into the throb of his vein. "Do you really want to die, Grayson?" Ryan whispered as Richard shook his head. Ryan snickered. "Didn't think so. But unless you tell us where we can find the money in oh, two minutes, you will. Sharpay over here," he gestured towards his sister, "she's a perfect shot."

To demonstrate his point, Sharpay put both hands on the trigger an pointed to a clock on the other side of the room. "See the longer hand?" she asked, fingers poised on the trigger. "I'll shoot a hole right through it." Another loud pop bounced off the walls as she shot her gun, cracking the clock and shattering it's glass as the minute hand bounced off. She wasn't joking.

"We mean business, Grayson!" she suddenly barked. "Now where the fuck is the money and make it snappy!"

"I don't know where it is!" Richard yelped as he felt the gun dig into his head as Ryan tightened his hold on his shoulders.

"Bullshit!" Sharpay screamed, extending her foot and shoving over the glass coffee table, an ear splitting crash hitting his ears as the glass smashed on the marble floor. "Fucking tell us where it is and now before we shoot you dead! We're not joking, Grayson!"

"I don't know what you mean!" he protested, feeling weak and the woman across from him laughed bitterly.

"What bullshit!" she snapped. "Were we not good to you? Did you not come to us, to them, and ask for help? Ask to get your poor little itty bitty publishing company off the ground?"

"I—"

"Mother fucker, yes you did!" Sharpay screeched, pointing her gun at him. "How dare you even try to rock the boat! What the fuck were you thinking, you idiot? You knew this was going to happen so stop fucking around and give us what we asked for!"

"I don't have it," Richard said, tears pooling in his eyes as he shook. "Please, take anything you want, I don't care."

"Stop fucking lying, Grayson," Ryan hissed next to his ear. "Just give us the money and this will be all over."

Maybe it was the calmer tone of Ryan's voice compared to the shrill shrieking of Sharpay's, but slowly, Richard raised his arms and from the pocket of his blazer, withdrew a thick envelope. Snatching out of his grasp, Ryan threw it to Sharpay and grinned.

"Looks like he had it on his person at all times," Ryan said, still holding onto him. "Maybe you're smarter than we gave you credit for," he continued with a smirk. "You knew that if you left the money here, we'd simply take it. But of course, you were stupid enough to try and pull a fast one on us in the first place, so I'll have to give your IQ a pretty low score for that one."

With that, he released him and yanked open the door, dashing into the hallway. Richard felt his head connect with the ground, a resounding crack echoing off the walls. He groaned and tried to sit up, only to have see a pink high heeled foot press down firmly on his chest. Her stiletto was positioned right over his ribs—one sudden movement and she could snap them like twigs.

"Maybe you've learned your lesson this time, Mr. Grayson," Sharpay spit viciously, opening her handbag and shoving the envelope of money inside. "You don't try to fuck with people like us." She flicked open her gun and counted the bullets in her magazine quickly. Richard swallowed thickly, his head dizzy and his vision blurry, but his heart pounding in anticipation for what was to come.

Suddenly, Sharpay lifted her foot and smashed it into his nose. He coughed violently as he felt the thin bones shatter and blood spurt down his face, the coppery smell making him sick. Holding his face in pain, he felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as everything started to go back.

Bending down, Sharpay smirked as she hovered above him, waggling her fingers before whispering, "The Boltons send their love."

And with that, he passed out.

---

Everything will make more sense as time goes on. :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Part One

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**Stroke**

Part One

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When Chad Danforth was a young boy, his little sister, Gwen, fell from a tree when they were playing at the park. As soon as she hit the ground, he hurt the crunch of bones and saw a small trickle of blood and winced. The tears came afterwards and Chad had abandoned his best friend on the jungle gym and dashed over to where she was. Scooping her up in his arms, he placed her in the basket of his bike and started to pedal off home, whispering comforting words the entire time.

Upon arriving at the house, he ran inside and alerted his mother that Gwen was hurt and the entire family, mom, dad and kids drove to the hospital. Once the tears had subsided and Gwen was all patched up, his mother had ruffled his hair and smiled at him proudly.

"Good job, Chad!" she said with a smile on her face. "Way to look out for your sister! Way to protect her!"

Looking back, that was what started it all, really. The word protect had slipped from his mother's lips and filled Chad with an instant sense of gratification and warmth. He had protected his sister. He had looked out for someone. The comfort and pride this gave him, he quickly learned, was unrivaled.

So Chad began to dedicate his days to helping and protecting. When school would let out for the day, he would spend hours watching superhero cartoons, watching Batman and Superman save the damsels in distress and rid the city of evil. He signed up as a safety patroller and hall monitor at school, and would stand up to bullies at recess.

As he grew older, this need to protect only grew stronger, but he was finding it more difficult to find ways to attempt to protect and help others. He couldn't be like Batman; he didn't have enough angst or money, and he couldn't be Superman for he wasn't an alien. So that left only one thing.

Instead of pursing basketball and attending the University of Albuquerque, he enrolled at the police force and worked his way up to Chief of Police of the Albuquerque Police Force and life was good.

Chad Danforth loved his job. The need to protect was instilled in him, which was odd, given his immense dislike for authority figures in his high school days. Regardless, he found himself immersed in mysteries, immersed in defending and helping. And he was good at it.

So good, in fact, that he was offered another, higher paying position in one of the most dangerous places around. Given how good he was, naturally, he accepted.

And he moved to The City.

The City had a name, of course, but no one often used it. It was too long, too boring, to simplistic to describe the real nature of The City. The messy, nitty, gritty edgy part of The City that everyone knew existed. The part that made it dangerous for kids to play outside after seven PM.

The City, verily, was a cesspool, an absolute disaster. Not a day went by where a small business wasn't turned over, not a month without a gun related death. There street gangs and mobsters. Shady dealings left and right. Blood here, sweat there and a little bit of anarchy in the corner. Nothing was sacred, nothing was safe and everyone was screwed.

And Chad Danforth was in over his head.

He certainly had heard things about The City, he had heard them time and time again. But in his naive mind, he had assumed that it was nothing but talk, nothing but people blowing steam out of their ears. He had known that things wouldn't be easy and he knew that things would probably more often than not be hard for him to handle, but he had never anticipated this.

One dreary Thursday morning, he woke up to find it was raining. It was forever raining in The City, the sky constantly dark and gloomy. He hated it, if he was being honest; he loved sun and warmth and happiness. In a lot of ways, his line of profession could not be the worst one for a person like him. But he ignored the black and whites and grays and looked forward to seeing the light, the brightness that would occur when things had finally righted themselves.

As he showered and dressed for the day, he considered what had transpired over the last couple of weeks. There had been three incidents involving household robberies where nothing was actually stolen. Gunshots had been fired and property damaged, but no belongings or money had been taken. Each victim had absolutely nothing to say regarding the situation.

Which led Chad to the conclusions that something deeper was going on in The City. As he prepared his coffee, he mulled over the idea that something or someone was controlling everything, someone who orchestrated everything. Things were way too clean cut and far too difficult to crack for everything not to be related. But who? Who was powerful enough, strong enough to be able to contain everything? He had several ideas, but no real proof and that enough was crippling.

Walking over to his desk, he took a long sip of his coffee and flipped through the case file that sat on the surface. The robbery that had occurred at the Grayson household was nothing unusual, at least, not under the city's circumstances. Three of Danforth's men had arrived to find Richard Grayson passed out on his marble floor, a stream of blood running down his house. He was half-conscious and delirious, sobbing like a babe and trembling like a poodle. The drywall was split from a gunshot and his piano in pieces on the ground. The only thing that had been stolen was a pearl bracelet, according to Grayson, and as for who knocked him out, he said he couldn't remember, nor did he see their faces.

It was a curious thing, Chad thought, picking up the file and shoving it in his briefcase before downing the rest of his coffee and preparing to leave for the day, that no one ever saw the people who victimized them. That there was never a face nor a voice that was distinguishable to them. That there was never a fingerprint or strand of hair left behind, no weapons either. Bullets that were purchased from Wal-Mart, hardly easily traceable. It was obvious that the persons committing these crimes went to great lengths to protect themselves, but something was still off. Walking out his apartment door, he fished for the key in his pocket to lock up.

How could no one be able to identify them? Why did no one want these guys caught? There was something deeper underneath the surface, something people knew that no one was telling him. But what was it?

"Hello, Chad," a sweet, feminine voice said behind him. Depositing his key back into his pocket, he turned to look over his shoulder and found himself face to face with his neighbor, Taylor Mckessie.

"Hey, Taylor," he said, smiling, "how are you today?"

When Chad moved in a little under a year ago, Taylor was the first person in the building he had met. As his luck would have it, he jammed his key in the doorknob and managed to snap it in half. Since it was the middle of the night, he hardly thought it would be acceptable to go find the landlord and demand a spare—the man was grumpy and rude enough as it was. So shortly after he had accepted that his first night would be spent outside sleeping on top of his suitcase, the door across the hall opened and Taylor stepped out.

His first impression of her was that she was gorgeous. His second was that she was a bitch.

Crossly, she placed her hands on her hips and demanded to know who he was and what he was doing there. As he desperately tried to explain the circumstances to her, she rolled her eyes, calling him careless for damaging his key so early in the game and told him he was lucky if he managed to even get a spare from the landlord no matter what time of day. Then she rolled her eyes, stuck out her hand and introduced herself, before telling him to pick up his junk and get inside her apartment before someone called the police.

Needless to say, that night he fell in love with her.

Since then, the two had remained to have a platonic, yet uneasy friendship. Taylor was constantly coming round to his, making sure everything was in order and that he had eaten properly. On days when she felt he wasn't getting enough sleep or that he had been living on Chinese take-out for too long, she would barge into his apartment and insist that he clean while she cooked dinner. She would then take over his couch and refuse to leave until she was certain he was asleep before three AM.

She was every kind of wonderful. And she would always just be a friend.

"I'm good, Chad," she said softly, taking in her plum coloured pantsuit and shiny bobbed hair. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks slightly flushed. "Yourself?"

"Been better," he admitted, running a hand over his hair as he chuckled awkwardly.

Taylor frowned, stepping closer to him. "Are you working too hard, again?" she said, her eyes soft and concerned. "You really should take a break, it's not going to help if you're over-exhausted."

Many a time did Taylor enter his apartment to find him hunched over a case file, cigarette dangling from his mouth and a pot of coffee adjacent to the mess of papers. She knew how important his job was to him and knew how hard he worked, but it still caused her to wish that every once in a while, he'd take a break and relax, if only slightly.

"Not working hard enough, it seems," he said with a laugh. "I mean, we're still at square one. Nothing much has happened, but not too little that I don't feel as if I'm not over my head."

Biting her lip, Taylor rested her hand on his arm and he felt a jolt run through him at the warmth. "Chad, if you ever need anything, I'm—"

"Right across the hall," Chad finished, slipping out from under her grasp. "I know. Thanks." With that he started down the hallway, waving to her. "Have a good day, Taylor."

Shoulders slumped slightly, Taylor managed a weak smile and wave before turning in the opposite direction. Chad cringed at the look on her face. He wasn't stupid, he knew whatever Taylor did for him wasn't simply because they were neighbors, but because of a lot more. He would be lying if he said he didn't find he terribly attractive and positively wonderful, because he really, truly did. He found all of these things wonderfully true, and when it came down to it, all he wanted to was to take her into his arms and never let go.

But things were more complicated than that, his life wasn't that easy. As a man of the law, someone who was constantly rubbing shoulders with crooks and people with guns and knifes at their disposal, psychopaths who would hurt just to see the blood, having any real family or friends was far too dangerous.

Taylor wouldn't just be his girlfriend, someone to come home to. No, she'd be an accessory, a weakness. Someone his enemies could prey on, use to their advantage. If he cared about her at all, he most certainly wouldn't get involved with her. Their friendship, which bordered on being very close, was even too dangerous. Chad had to watch himself, had to take a step back.

If he didn't, the results could be disastrous.

That wasn't to say that it was impossible to have friends, family, a girlfriend, a wife. It was just a risk some were willing to take and some weren't. Still, it was difficult for Chad to fathom how some were able to take such a risk so easily. How could his colleagues go about having wives and children and not worry constantly?

How did they make it look so easy?

"How do you do it?" Chad asked later that morning, slumping into the chair on the other side of his best friend and colleague, Detective Troy Bolton.

The man across from him raised a dark eyebrow, running a hand over his combed back hair. He smiled slightly, his blue eyes bright as he contemplated the abrupt question. "Do what?"

Sighing, Chad leaned over and picked up one of the many picture frames sitting on Troy's desk and turned it over in his hands. "Have a wife," he said simply, looking down at the smiling face of Troy's dark haired beauty, Gabriella.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Troy took a slow sip of his coffee before smacking his lips. "Well, I met Gabriella, we fell in love, I proposed and we got married," he explained slowly. "It's really not that complicated."

"No," Chad said, exasperated. "I'm talking about having a wife and doing what you do." He set the picture frame down on the desk and leaned back in the chair. "Aren't you afraid that some badies out there are going to find out about her and use her as your weakness?"

Troy blinked, taking another drink of his coffee. "Ah, the Spiderman complex," he said with a smile. "Yeah, been there before."

"Spiderman complex?" Chad asked.

"Yeah," Troy said, waving his hand about nonchalantly. "The Spiderman complex. Peter Parker dumps Mary Jane because it's too dangerous for them to be together. If you're into literature, you could call it the Harry Potter complex, because he does the same thing with Ginny."

Chad laughed. "Are you sure you don't have kids, Bolton?" He joked, "Because you seem to know an awful lot of childish references."

"Ha ha," Troy laughed dryly. "Positive, Danforth. Positive."

"So how do you do it, then?" Chad inquired, remembering the soft curve of Taylor's smile and the sweet way she greeted him each morning. If Troy could do it, why couldn't he?"

Reaching inside his shirt, Troy revealed a long chain that was hidden beneath the fabric, his platinum wedding band dangling on the end. "I don't advertise it, firstly," he explained, "and secondly, I married Gabriella first, so my life is dedicated to her, not the force. If I had to choose, or if her life was on the line or potentially could be, I'd hand in my gun and badge in a heartbeat."

This was perhaps the thing Chad liked about Troy the most. How noble, how strong and good he was. On Chad's first day on the job, Troy was one of the first people he met and the light haired man instantly launched into a speech about how he had heard great things about Chad from Albuquerque and that if anyone could clean up the cesspool they lived in, it was him.

As the days went on, he discovered that he and Troy had the same ideals. That they were both disgusted with the state The City was in, were disgusted by the secondhand and third generation crooks that littered The City. The ones that paid people off, promising that they wouldn't wake up limbless in exchange for their silence. In Troy Bolton, Chad had not only found a friend, but he had also found a comrade, a secondhand: a partner to help him take on the daunting task The City provided him with.

Not to mention, he was a lot of fun to be around, interested in basketball and action films just as much as Chad was. Troy understood that Chad was lonely in The City and often invited him around for dinner at he and his wife's house. Gabriella Bolton was just as kind as Troy was and the two of them embraced them with open arms.

He watched as his friend twirled the ring around on it's chain, Troy smiling fondly. Chad rested his head in his palm. "Maybe that's the problem, then," he whispered, "I'm married to the force. I was in this before I found the girl."

"Wait," Troy said, sliding his ring back under his shirt. "You found a girl?"

Chad shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, damn," Troy whistled. "You willing to give all this up, then?"

Chad didn't say anything for a moment, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms before standing up and dropping the Grayson file on Troy's desk. "Take a look through that, see if you can find any immediate leads that I couldn't already. There's some notes I took, too."

Troy sighed heavily, picking up the manilla folder and flipping through it. "Chad we've already been through this case dozens of times. There's no leads, nothing was stolen and Grayson ain't talking."

"He will talk, Bolton," Chad said firmly as he walked to the door to leave. "We're one step away from cracking down on this, I can feel it."

"That's what you said last time," Troy said, his eyes glazing over as he re-read the details of the report, "and the time before that. And the time before, that, too."

Chad glared at Troy slightly. "I thought we were in this together, Bolton," he said slowly. "What's with the negativity."

Troy put his hands up helplessly. "I'm just saying. Seems like a lost cause at this point, if you ask me. We can crack down on anybody if we keep chasing empty leads."

"It's not empty, though," Chad insisted, "I am telling you, Troy, there is something there that can lead us to where we need to go. That will lead us to them."

Troy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but the look went unnoticed by Chad. "You can't keep making assumptions based on rumors, Chad," he said stiffly, "it will get you absolutely no where. You have absolutely no proof that—"

"I know the Evans family is some how involved with this, Troy," Chad spit. "I can feel it, I just know it. Call it intuition, but rumors have to start from something, right? There's a little bit of truth to every bit of gossip."

"Even in the tabloids?" Troy said, rolling his eyes as he tossed the file back on his desk. Chad scoffed.

"You are below me, Detective," he said harshly, "and despite our closeness, you'll do as I'm told. And if I say the Evans are behind it, chances are, they're behind it."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Troy ran a hand through his hair and picked the folder back up, turning to Chad's notes. "Alright, bossman."

"Don't call me bossman," Chad sneered.

"After that little speech," Troy said, not looking up, "I believe it warranted it."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Bolton," Chad said with a laugh, his grumpy demeanor finally slipping. As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, suddenly remembering a matter he had yet to discuss with Troy.

"By the way," he said, looking over his shoulder, "are you and the wife going to that banquet tonight?"

Troy glanced up, a pen between his teeth. "The one that Jason Cross is throwing?" Troy asked. "Yeah, we'll be there. Brie lives for those things."

Chad nodded. "Cool. I'll see you there, then."

"Sounds good," Troy said, twirling his pen in his fingers. "Hey, Chad?"

"Yeah?"

"Just so you know," he paused before continuing, "the Evans will be there as well."

And that was how everything was set in motion.

---

Like most young, cocky, single billionaires, Jason Cross never did anything that lacked style. He wore Armani suits to the grocery store and Lacoste polos when he went running. He had an iPhone filled with girl's phone numbers—ones he would collect on a nightly basis, and a Blackberry filled with clients phone numbers—ones he would also collect on a nightly basis.

He grew up in New York City, as most successful young men do, and inherited a large sum of money from his grandfather. Deciding that New York was highly overrated at the age of ten, by the time he was twenty-two, he had backed up his belongings and moved to The City. Here he started a advertising small business with a large amount of money invested in it, crossing his fingers and hoping for the best. And the best is what he got.

It was usual considering his ideas and creative team were neither original nor clever. There ads were based solely on the use of puns, sex and a keen understanding of what the MTV generation wanted to see. Given this, it should have been less surprising, but still to some, to see Jason Cross tooling around in his Lexis convertible, with two blondes in the backseat, on Sunday afternoon, was still rather weird.

He had been in The City for only four months and maybe that was what drew people to be so shocked by him. That he was able to not only make a mark for himself among the beggars and the choosers, but that he was able to do so so seamlessly and quickly. Despite how he came off, Jason Cross wasn't stupid. He knew both A) what people were saying about him and B) how to remedy it. If there was one thing he learned from New York (the first being that gossip is sexy, gossip is good, not everyone does it but everyone should!) was that the only real way to change the impression you have on people was to throw a party.

A successful large scale party was guaranteed to charm people into loving you. Sure, they'd say snide things about you behind your back, because it was human nature, after all, but they'd be respectful to your face. And really, that was all anyone wanted; to have a good face to put on and be well received when wearing it. An unsuccessful party of any scale would turn you into an instant social leper.

So he set to throw the soiree of the year. He invited the rich socialites, the Paris Hiltons and Cory Kennedy's of the population, knowing that their names on the guest list would be sure to attract some attention, or at least a few middle aged photographers camped on his front lawn.

He invited the Evans twins, Sharpay and Ryan, along with her husband, Zeke Baylor, knowing that they would stir up the slightest bit of controversy. The Evans family was known to be the richest, most powerful and successful family in the entire City and would both completely hated and completely feared. They were sure to generate some interested and would probably be useful to Jason in the future.

He invited the mayor and other political figures, including the entire police force headed by Chad Danforth. He had RSVP'ed, of course, and so had the rest of the team, including Troy Bolton and his wife, Gabriella. Every name was an additional gold star on the shiny report card of Jason's life and things were definitely shaping up to at least have a good outward appearance.

Yet there was one missing component. Jason could not just throw a party and demand power; he needed to prove that he was able to aid, able to help. Needed to show that he could not only be a good guy, but that he was willing to be one as well. And that's where his guests came into play.

The party, or banquet rather, was in full swing. Jazz music was playing and guests in designer gowns and dresses danced, laughed and ate. He had been mingling for the last couple of hours, greeting everyone he possibly could until his eyes finally fell upon the people he had been hoping to catch the attention of the entire night. Excusing himself, he walked across the ballroom of his estate and made his way over to the three people conversing on the other side.

Chad Danforth was standing with Troy and Gabriella Bolton. Both of the men were dressed in fine, expensive and well-tailored suits while Gabriella in a long, strapless black gown. She stood beside her husband, obviously leading the conversation and gesturing with her hands wildly. Jason cleared his throat, capturing their attention.

"Good evening gentlemen!" he said joyously, before winking at Gabriella, "and lady. How are you doing tonight? Enjoying the party?"

Troy's hand snaked down to grasp Gabriella's in his own before extending his free one to shake Jason's. "Very much so, Mr. Cross. Troy Bolton."

"It's a pleasure," he said, "and this is your wife, yes?"

"Gabriella Bolton," she said with a smile, the large diamond ring on her left hand glinting in the light. "It's very wonderful to meet you, Mr. Cross. I've heard stories of how successful you've been."

Jason laughed and shrugged as if it was nothing. "Oh, it's nothing, really," he said with a wave of his hand. "What your husband and Mr. Danforth here do is far, far more interesting." This was all like fishing—he'd dangle a string with some bait on the hook and see if they would take it. Here was his bait and how he had to just wait for a bite.

Chad cocked an eyebrow and extended his own hand. "Oh?" he said, curiously, "Chad Danforth, Chief of Police. It's good to meet you, Mr. Cross."

"Likewise," Jason said with a nod. "But honestly, men, I have heard wonderful things about your mission to clean up The City! It's a very difficult endeavor!"

"Oh," Chad said, bemused, "we're trying, but it's difficult."

"We're like the maids," Troy said with a laugh, "we clean up a mess and then someone makes another one."

The group laughed stiffly and Jason folded his hands, smiling. "But really, I am intrigued. Do you have anyone sponsoring your work?"

Troy and Chad exchanged a glance. "No one but The City itself, Cross," Troy supplied and the man brought a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

"Is that so?" he asked, "because you see, I for one, am very, very interested in helping."

"Helping?" Chad raised his eyebrows. He was always one for help. "What are you suggesting?"

Jason smirked. Bingo, he had a bite. "You and I both know very well, Mr. Danforth, that someone out there is orchestrating the events that transpire in The City. That someone out there is paying off small business owners. It's like we have our very own Tony Soprano."

Chad's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "W-well," he stammered, looking at Troy shocked. "That's certainly a theory we've considered, but how would you be able to help us with that?"

"I'm an up and comer," Jason began, "I work alongside you two, help you crack down on these guys and use my money to invest in the small businesses instead. No funny business, and the crime rating goes down a notch. We pay off the small business owners to give us names and then we chuck the dirt in the trash."

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Chad considered this. "I...this all seems very simplistic, yet at the same time, having someone with your power and money could contribute and help greatly." Chad rubbed his eyebrow. "Perhaps we should discuss this in depth. You coming, Bolton?"

Looking over at them, Chad furrowed his brows as he saw that Gabriella had suddenly turned three shades paler. Troy was clutching her hand tightly, so hard his knuckles turned white and was hovering over her, concerned.

"Oh, Gabriella's not feeling well," Troy explained, brushing a strand of hair out of his wife's face. "I'm sorry, but I'm thinking we're going to be calling it a night."

Jason blinked, his own eyebrows in a knot. "Are you sick, Mrs. Bolton?"

Gabriella shook her head. "No, it just...came over me suddenly. It must have been something I ate."

Jason's eyes doubled in size. "But, but...oh, if the cook undercooked something they are fired!"

"Really, it's no problem," Troy said, laughing, "she has a weak stomach and probably ate too much sea food. Right sweetheart?"

Sighing discontently, Gabriella leaned into Troy's shoulder. "Right."

"Hand me your clutch, babe, I'll find our card for the valet." As she passed over the Yves St Laurent purse, she shot him an look and he carefully grabbed a slip of paper from her address book and scribbled something on it with her eyeliner, his actions concealed inside. "But really, we'd better call it a night. Thank you for having us. Cross and I'll see you at the office in the morning, Danforth."

Troy's palm resting protectively on the small of Gabriella's back, they began to make their way out of the ballroom, walking past Sharpay. Gabriella smiled tightly at them, but her eyes sparkled.

"Good evening, Mrs. Evans-Baylor," she said politely.

Sharpay smiled back just as tightly, but the same mirth danced in her own eyes as she nodded at them. "Mrs. Bolton, Mr Bolton," she said, "don't you look lovely."

"As do you, Mrs. Evans-Baylor," Troy said, using his freehand to grab one of hers. Bringing it to her mouth, he kissed it gently in greeting and slipped a piece of paper into her fingers. Dropping her hand, he smiled and turned back to his wife. "So sorry we can't stay and chat," he said, "but Gabriella's not feeling too well."

Gabriella, fanning herself. "Oh, you know how it is," she said with a roll of her eyes. "It's difficult being us girls."

Sharpay laughed, bringing her closed fist to her hand. "Oh, don't I ever. See you soon, then?"

"Of course!" Gabriella said. Lifting her hand, she waved, holding up only three fingers. Narrowing her eyes, Sharpay nodded.

With another curt smile and nod, Troy grabbed Gabriella's hand and lead her to the front doors. As soon as they were outside, Ryan instantly appeared at her side, holding two glasses of champagne.

"Do we have word?" he asked carefully as Sharpay unfolded the piece of paper. Written in Troy's block letters was only one word: Tomorrow.

"Yep," she said, crumpling the paper and shoving it in her clutch. Accepting the flute of champagne, she took a long sip before whispering, "three o'clock, tomorrow. El Stavros."

Things were indeed going to be set in motion.

---

Money, essentially, was everything.

In Hollywood, they didn't give a fuck about how talented you were. It was all about money. How much money can you make us? How much money can you make me? How much money can you make you? Can you sell you? Are you profitable? Are you affordable? Do you take cash, cheque or charge and are you willing to fork over a set-up fee?

In retail, they didn't care if their product was shit. It was all about how much they could sell. Will you buy this? Will you buy that? What if we throw in this for fifty percent off? We'll adjust the policy if you promise to continue to keep shopping here. Why don't you sign up for this discount card that will actually cost more for you to sign up than you'll actually save in the future. You need a membership to shop here, pay, pay, pay!

In households, it was all about money. How much the man made, how much the woman made, how much that joint income added up to. How the much the water cost this month, how much cable would cost next. How much money their daughter spent on clothing, how much money their unemployed son spent on, well, god knows what (and further more, where was he even getting this money?). How much they could save with this coupon, how much they could spend if they saved this much. How much university cost, how much food cost, how much it would cost to get their cars detailed.

Money, money, money.

Somewhere in between the magazine deals and the two for one sales at the grocery store, someone in the family tree got an idea. Having a great deal of money themselves, they had thought that maybe it would be wise to try to help others out. Maybe it would be a good idea for all those around if they were to invest in other's businesses, other's endeavors in exchange for a small profit. At first, it seemed to work well. Until things started getting ugly.

People stopped paying up, deciding to pull fast ones here and there and before you knew it, blood was shed over money. Over and over again, time and time again. Money, blood, blood money. Blood, blood, money, money. Stab, stab, bang, bang, ka-ching!

In the simplest terms that he could use to explain it to you, Troy Bolton was part of what some might call the mafia. He didn't like to label it that way, so he didn't.

As he arrived home that night after the banquet, knowing that he and his wife were undoubtedly fucked, that Jason Cross had entirely too much money, and therefore, entirely too much power, he had slid into the shower to try and rid himself of some of the tension. Of course, like any time his wife and he were threatened, he found himself evaluating how he had gotten there in the first place.

He was born, that's what started it all. He was born to Jack and Lucille Bolton, and that had sealed his fate. The Bolton family owned the newspaper and the factories that printed it, making them both rich and powerful, able to twist the written word. His father, Jack, was head of the group, inheriting the job from his father, who had it passed down from his and so on and so forth. The name of the game was simple: they invested in small businesses and if those businesses wanted to succeed, they would go to them, of course. Through scare tactics, word of mouth and some shady dealings, Jack and his men would make sure that they would see the business prosper—in exchange, the business owners owed them a sum each month of their profits. If they didn't pay up, they would take what they were owed as they saw fit and then make sure the business was doomed to fail.

It was a wrong, messy, dirty business, but it was one that Troy would see through to the end.

His father had not been the only player in the game, though. His second in command had been a man by the name of Josue Montez—Gabriella's father. He scoffed as the hot water ran down his back. He and Gabriella really were a match made in bad-guy heaven. Jack and Josue had run the operation for years, twisting and turning The City into their perfect replica of destruction. Though neither one of them had managed to infiltrate the police department so easily as Troy had done.

If either of them had been around, they would have been proud.

Along with Jack and Josue, there was Vance Evans, who was then and remained to be seen as the most powerful man in town. He wasn't, and probably never would be, but he relished in the title and enjoyed pretending to take center stage. He was the decoy; the one everything thought was the ring leader, the puppet master. His children had taken the position from him years ago and were currently loving it just as much as he was.

Lastly, there was Antonio Nielson, the man who owned El Stavros, the bar that became their meet and greet place, their place for planning. Troy still remembered one of the first times he had set foot in the grungy, dark bar. He was with his father, upset that he had to accompany him because Pokemon was on and he was missing it. Sulking, he ran to hide behind the bar, requesting that Antonio bring him a cream soda, if he would please, and then going to whine in peace.

However, once he curled behind it and sat down, he realized he wasn't alone. A small girl sat there, with dark hair and tan skin. She wore a purple sundress and looked awfully upset. She must have been someone's daughter, his father had mentioned his 'friends' had kids his age. This must have been one of the.

"Hi," he said quietly, realizing that she wasn't going to say anything. She was tiny and curled into a ball, her knees drawn up to her chest and her eyes peering over her knees. "What are you doing?"

She bit her lip and didn't say anything. Okay, Troy though, she was weird. At eight years old, it wasn't unusual to make snap judgements and in this case, it felt he was correct. But still, she was the only kid here and he was bored. He might as well try a little harder.

"My name's Troy. What's yours?" Again, nothing, and so he leaned against the wood of the bar and dug into his pocket, pulling out his deck of cards. "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

When she didn't respond again, he rolled his eyes and leaned his head back. "You're boring," he stated plainly. "How come you don't talk?"

She bit her lip so hard it turned white and Troy could see the tears pooling in her eyes. "Hey, hey," he said, scooting closer to her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't cry!" What if she were to tell her daddy? Then he'd be in big trouble! "I didn't mean it."

"I'm just," she said so softly, her voice sweet and meek, "I'm just scared, that's all."

Troy frowned. She was scared? What of? "Why are you scared?"

"Cause," she said, wiping her tears with her sleeve, "It's dark in here. I'm afraid of the dark and there's all those scary men out there."

Looking down awkwardly, Troy tried to think of something to say. "Why are you hiding behind the bar, then?" he asked quietly, "It's really dark behind here."

She sniffled and he instantly felt bad. He certainly wasn't friends with girls for more reasons than just that they had cooties. He just couldn't talk to them.

"Because I don't wanna hear what they're talking about," she whispered. "It scares me."

Troy nodded in understanding. What their daddies did _was_ scary, he would admit that. But he was a boy and boys needed to be brave. So he shrugged. "It's not that bad," he said, trying to come off as if he didn't care. At his words, Gabriella crumpled even further and buried her face in her knees.

Oh, great. "Hey, hey!" he said, scooting even closer to her, "I'm sorry, I really, really am! Don't cry, don't cry!"

As he tried to console her, Antonio appeared out of no where and slipped Troy a glass of the fizzy pink liquid he had requested and passed one to Gabriella as well. He frowned curiously when he saw that Gabriella was in tears.

"You make a lady cry, boy?" he asked sternly and Troy shook his head rapidly.

"No, Ant, I didn't! She was crying when I came back here!" he insisted, patting Gabriella awkwardly on the head.

Antonio pursed his lips but didn't say anything. "Alright," he said slowly, "but you know it's the ultimate sin to make a pretty girl cry, you here me?"

Nodding, Troy let out a sigh of relief as Antonio turned around the corner and disappeared. Glancing back at Gabriella, he saw that she had straightened and was eyeing their drinks.

"You drink cream soda?" she asked slowly, her eyes large and watery.

"It's my favourite," Troy answered.

Gabriella smiled softly, reaching over to grab her drink and giggling when she saw there were flowers on the little umbrella Antonio had decorated the glass with. "Mine, too. I like it cause it's my favourite colour."

"I like it cause it tastes like vanilla," Troy said, picking up his own glass and taking a sip. He eyed Gabriella carefully. "You sure you don't want to play cards?"

Crossing her legs, she scooted closer to him and set her drink on the ground. "Alright," she said, "why not?"

Picking up his deck of cards, Troy began to deal them out, watching her carefully. "You never told me your name, you know."

"Oh!" she said, blushing, "my name's Gabriella."

It was a pretty name and Gabriella was a pretty girl who happened to really suck at cards. She lost all fifteen games of Go Fish and all three games of Old Maid they had played. She even failed at 52 pick up. But she was fun, she had a nice giggle and pretty hair and a sweet voice. When she left that day, she kissed Troy on the cheek as a farewell gesture before dashing off to her daddy, grabbing his hand and walking out the door.

For several weeks after that, Troy found himself tagging along with this father to El Stavros with vain hopes that Gabriella Montez would be hiding behind the bar again. He even took to carrying a deck of cards in his jacket pocket just in case. Yet everytime he'd enter the smoky bar, he found she was never anywhere to be seen. This was disappointing and despite his better judgement, he asked his father if the girl was ever going to come to play again. Her daddy was his business partner, was he not?

He remembered the way his father had smiled kindly at him and ruffled his hair. "Now, Troy," he said, "It's not proper for a young lady such as Gabriella to be around so many gentlemen at one time, surely you understand that. She never comes to these things; that was a rare occasion and Jose and his wife have looked to make sure it doesn't happen again." Seeing the way his son's face fell at this information, he looked at his son oddly. "Why?"

Troy shrugged. "I don't know dad," he said quietly. "I just like her is all."

Jack was slightly stunned, realizing that the blush spreading across the boy's cheeks and he way he was fidgeting was a sure indicator that the boy was smitten. "Did you want me to organize a day for you to two play together, Troy?" he asked carefully, knowing that the wrong choice of words would turn him off of it immediately, even if it was exactly what he desired.

"No!" Troy said hastily, shaking his head. "No, dad, I don't care, I just liked playing cards with her that one day. It's boring if I come here and there's no other kids around."

This much was true and after that, Troy stopped accompanying his father to El Stavros, much to his mother's delight. A bar, she had said to her husband thickly, is no place for an eight year old, and much to her surprise, Jack had agreed.

You're right, he said, it's probably best he doesn't get too much exposure to this anyway. It didn't really matter whether he was present for the meetings at El Stavros anyways; the boy knew what his father's 'work' was and he knew what really went on. Besides, with things heating up and becoming more tension filled, it was for the best that he wasn't there.

So years had passed and Troy eventually forgot about the sweet girl who played go-fish with him for hours. He made new friends and had different experiences, growing from the small boy with the slight frame to someone much taller with hair that never stayed put and a muscular torso and arms. He had his own talents, his own morals and ideals and no one was more stunned than he to discover that none of them included what his father had planned for him.

Suddenly, his father's job wasn't cool or exciting. It didn't make him seem strong or powerful, it made him seem weak and like a bully. Controlling a city, threatening to ruin people's lives in exchange for money or goods was useless and frankly? Troy hated it. By the time he turned fifteen, even if his father tried to persuade him to accompany him to El Stavros, he would decline.

Until one day when he was seventeen. His father, looking paler than usual had begged and pleaded with Troy to come with him. When Troy asked what was so important that he be there, especially since it was just a meeting, they had them all the time, his father had sighed heavily and cast a hand through his hair.

"Gabriella Montez is coming today," he explained slowly and Troy froze, curious. "You remember her from when you were little? She's coming because she leaves for university within the next couple of weeks and her father wants her to have one last look at what she's leaving behind."

Troy scowled, hardly impressed. He remembered Gabriella very vividly, the curl of her hair and the trill of her laugh. But she had been eight years old the last time he had seen her; nearly a decade had passed. What was the point of bringing this up to him now?

"So?" Troy asked, curious, "I'm still not looking to play cards with her, dad."

His father smiled briefly before it fell from his lips. "I know, son," he said, "but she could use a companion today and frankly, you're both the same age. What do you say, up for a little reunion?

Ignoring the voice in his head that said it wasn't a good idea, coupled with the lurch in his stomach that made him shaky and nervous, Troy nodded his head and agreed to go. Certainly a part of him wondered what Gabriella was like. Had the years been good to her? He smiled fondly, remembering their game of cards behind the bar so long ago. Did she remember, too? Feeling suddenly jovial, he reached into his desk drawer and grabbed a deck of cards, shoving them into his jacket pocket before following his father out to the car.

As they drove across town, Troy had no idea what they day would bring for him, and how it would inevitably change his life forever. He got the slightest inkling, however, when they stepped into the dimly-lit bar ten minutes later and the first thing Troy's eyes fell on wasn't a thing at all, but rather a person.

And not just a person, but a girl, a young woman. She was petite and slender, sitting on a bar-stool with her head in her hands, looking terribly pained and horribly bored. Her skin was the colour of cappuccino and her eyes, behind thick lashed lids, were large and dark. She had high cheekbones and puffy bow shaped lips. She brought a thin hand to her forehead and swept away her long black bangs, the rest of her hair falling down her back and shoulders in elegant curls. She wore a black floral print dress and matching black pumps, looking far older than seventeen. Troy stood, stunned by her beauty, in the doorway and flushed hotly when his father sent him a knowing glance and an amused smile.

"Told you you should come today," his father said jokingly and Troy muttered something under his breath in response. Jack clapped him on the shoulder and pushed Troy forward.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he proclaimed, and the small group of people turned to greet them. Troy picked them out one by one, the man with the light blonde hair and Cartier bracelet was Vance Evans, the one with the mustache and expensive looking suit was Josue Montez, Gabriella's father. There were several other men who Troy knew were familiar, but were no where near as important as the two men he immediately recognized and his father. He felt Gabriella's eyes on him and he shifted awkwardly. "My son, Troy, has decided to grace us with his presence this afternoon."

"Hi," Troy said simply, raising his hand and waving slightly before letting his hand fall back down and worm it's way back into the pocket of his pants.

"Well what do we have here?" Vance Evans proclaimed, lifting his scotch to his mouth and taking a long sip. "Troy Bolton, I haven't seen you since you were this tall!" He laid his palm flat on the air, demonstrating just how small he had been all those years ago. Troy gave a tight smile in response.

"It's good to see you, Mr. Evans," he said politely, turning to greet Jose, "And you, too, Mr. Montez."

The latter grinned. "A man of good manners, good to see," he said happily, his eyes dancing. "You remember my daughter, Gabriella?" he gestured to her and Troy watched as she scrambled suddenly, sitting up straighter.

Troy nodded, his throat feeling dry. "Yeah, I do." He nodded at her, trying to remain calm, cool and collected. "We played cards together."

Gabriella smiled at him slowly and he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. He had never seen anything so beautiful. "It's nice to see you again, Troy," she said softly and his father pushed him forward, urging him to respond. Rubbing his neck awkwardly, Troy smiled again.

"Nice to, uh, see you too, Gabriella," he said nervously, feeling her eyes, as well as the ones belonging to the adults in the room, on him. God this was embarrassing, did they all have to stare?

His father gave him a sudden harsh shove and Troy stumbled forward. "Why don't you kids catch up?" Jack said, his mischievous smile giving away his true motives for bringing Troy today. "It has been so long after all."

Troy glared at him, before abandoning his post and sliding onto the barstool next to Gabriella. The room was silent, as if the adults were waiting with bated breath, anticipating the next move. Troy glanced at Gabriella awkwardly underneath his lashes and she shot him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he mouthed and she shrugged.

"It's okay," she whispered back, before continuing slightly louder. "So, Troy, it certainly has been a while."

With those words, the men on the other side of the bar suddenly lost interest, relived that the children were at least interacting. Troy relaxed, the pressure seeming off of him. He brought his hands up to rest on the counter and stretched slightly. "Yeah, no kidding, nearly been ten years." He waved over at Antonio, who came forward and slammed a clean glass in front of Troy.

"What can I get you, son?" he asked with a grin and Troy shrugged.

"Rum and coke sound about good, old man?" he asked cheekily and Antonio laughed uproariously before brandishing him with a simple Coca Cola.

"You're going to have to deal with only half of that, boy," Antonio said, throwing a wink to Gabriella. "Looks like he's trying to impress ya'. Too bad he's only but seventeen. But here," he reached beneath the bar, "I'll give you one of those little umbrellas you used to love so much as a kid."

Troy felt his cheeks flame up and he mumbled a thanks to Antonio before sipping his drink, hearing Gabriella giggle. He hadn't really intended to buy alcohol, he just felt like being a smartass. If only Antonio wasn't a smart-ass, too, then he wouldn't have looked so foolish in front of Gabriella.

Who, upon further inspection, was really, really gorgeous. Her skin looked ridiculously soft and he could could smell the soft scent of her perfume. She pursed her lips, which were covered in shiny pink gloss and drummed her nails which were chipped with black polish. She was something alright.

"So this is weird," she said first and Troy let out a breath, relieved that she had picked up on the odd scenario and off tension, too.

"Yeah, no kidding," he responded, taking another sip of his drink. "I knew you were going to be here today, but I didn't think it was going to be an obvious set up."

Her eyes grew slight wide and he berated himself. Obviously he had said the wrong thing. "Do you really think that this is what this is?" she asked in a small voice and he resisted the urge to pepper kisses on her cheeks. She was just so tiny, so doll like and adorable. She furrowed her brow, "Because I'm going to be really angry with my father if that's what it turns out to be."

Troy shrugged, staring down at his glass. "Probably, to be honest with you," he said with a sigh. "But," he continued carefully, bringing up his eyes to meet her own, "I'm okay with it if you're okay with it."

She looked at him long and hard for a moment and he mentally kicked himself again. He had been much, much too forward, why did his mouth insist on not communicating with his brain? Then she smiled tentatively and he felt his anxiety wash away. "I'm okay with it."

"I've gotta say," he said, leaning back slightly. "You've certainly changed since I last saw you."

Gabriella rolled her eyes. "I was eight the last time you saw me."

"Yeah, well," Troy shot her another smile, figuring if he kept up the bright smiles and flirty banter they could get through with this as painlessly as possible and maybe he'd leave with her cell phone number. "The girl I remember was small enough to hide under the counter of the bar with me and play go-fish, so sorry if I'm a little taken aback."

She flushed, startled by his forwardness, more so than even he was. She was doing something to him and he didn't even know what. They hadn't even been talking for ten minutes. She bit her lip before smiling and opening her mouth to speak. "I let you win, in case you were wondering all these years."

"I doubt that," he said cheekily, leaning forward on the bar's countertop.

"No, I did, really," she answered, lifting the glass that was perched in front of and swished the ice around in it. His eyes flickered towards it briefly; it was bright pink and he smiled, feeling an odd warmth flood him at the sight.

"You still drink cream soda?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow and she nodded, a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks at her childish choice of drink.

"Every chance I get," she said, raising the glass and sipping it delicately. "I see you don't."

Troy glanced down at his drink before calling out Antonio's name. When the man came in front of him, Troy picked up his glass and held it out to him. Antonio peered down at him curiously.

"I told you, you're not getting alcohol," he said, narrowing his eyes at Troy, who laughed sarcastically.

"Ha ha," he said, not putting his glass down. "No, I'd like to switch to a cream soda, please."

Begrudgingly, Antonio took back Troy's coke and dumped it, knowing better than to deny the son of Jack Bolton something like cream soda. He filled the glass slowly and slid it across to Troy, allowing a smile to grace his face.

"Just like when you two were kids," he said fondly. "Want to see if you can squeeze behind the bar to talk in secret?"

Troy and Gabriella exchanged a glance before laughing. "No, thank you," Gabriella said sweetly.

"However," Troy said, hopping off the barstool and gesturing to the door that lead to the back-room, "did you want to get out of here?"

Gabriella looked over her shoulder and considered briefly what he was insinuating. "Um..."

"I'll keep my hands to myself, Montez," he said coyly, "after all, I still barely know you. But it'd be nice to talk somewhere where I can't see our fathers looking out of the corner of their eyes."

Pressing a hand to her mouth to suppress her giggles, Gabriella nodded. "Why not?" she asked, picking up her own soda and following him to the back room of El Stavros.

As he held the door open for her, he took a look at the surroundings of the room. It was a dimly lit room that smelled stale and vaguely of mildew, with milk crates full of empty bottles stacked on top of cases of beer. Gabriella walked over and took a seat on one of the crates, setting her glass down with a clink. Troy leaned against a wall of several others across from her, sipping the bubbly liquid slowly and trying to think of what to say next.

"So you go to East?" Gabriella asked carefully, picking up her drink and taking a long sip.

Troy nodded. "Yeah. You go to that private school across town, right?"

"Yep," she said, biting her lip. "So...the kids there. Do they know?"

He didn't have to ask her to elaborate, didn't have to ask if what it was they knew. She meant did they know what his father did, what the Bolton name held. It was something Troy had wondered his entire life, if his friends at school were aware that his father had possibly been the one to sent a few badies after he or she's parents because they didn't pay up that month. If they knew that Troy knew where his father kept his gun in the trap bottom of the second last drawer on the left hand side of the desk in the study. Somehow though, kids had never said anything to him, and by the time he got to high school, he realized that his father (and his people) was good at hiding his tracks and even better at keeping people quiet. They genuinely knew nothing.

"Nah," Troy said, shaking his head, "Our parents are good at what they do. I was just a regular kid." He glanced up at her slowly and noticed that Gabriella's gaze was fixed on the ground and she was gripping her glass so tightly her knuckles were white. "How about you?"

She tossed back the rest of her drink and scooped up an ice cube, crewing on it thoughtfully. "For the most part no," she said quietly.

Troy raised an eyebrow, feeling his palms become slick with sweat. "For the most part?"

"A girl found out last year. Her dad was drunk one night and wasn't too happy after my father and Mr. Evans paid him a visit," she explained and Troy's eyes grew wide. Whatever that girl's father had done must have been heavy-duty; it was a lot for either Jack or Josue to accompany Vance or the others on 'visits'.

"What happened?" he asked tentatively.

Gabriella bit down hard on the ice in her mouth and Troy winced. It sounded almost painful, but she did not seem perturbed. "She cornered me after French class one day. Told me she was going to tell the whole school about what my daddy's real job was. What he really did as a lawyer, that he didn't just defend crooks or robbers, but that he was one."

"I apologized, of course, for my father's actions," she said and she looked so incredibly sad that Troy was struck with the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her all over her face once again. "I know, absurd right? Apologizing for something I really had nothing to do with, no control over...but she wouldn't hear any of it. She called me a skank, a slut, a thief," she crunched the ice in her mouth again. "She tried to ruin my reputation. She threatened to tell everyone in the school what 'my daddy really did'."

Troy took a deep breath, his eyes dating from her face to the floor. "What did you do?"

She swallowed the last chunks of ice and took a deep breath. "I did the only thing I could think to do," she stood up from her seat on the crate and leaned against several stacked ones beside it. "I told my dad."

Shivering, Troy stared at her pale face. He knew what that meant, what it would lead to. "What happened?"

"He and your father paid their household a visit," Gabriella said simply and Troy stiffened. "She moved away the next week."

Troy bit his lip, feeling the tension rise in his shoulders. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugged. "No one's more sorry than I am," she admitted. "If I had known that was going to be the result, I probably wouldn't have said anything. Let her spit her words. There was no reason that kids would believer her word over mine anyways. But just...just the thought that they would know," she shuddered. "It was scary."

"I know what you mean," Troy answered, "I don't exactly enjoy talking about my family."

She blinked. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "Of course. In elementary school, when you'd have those parent days where your mom or dad would come in and talk about their careers?" He paused, running a hand over his face. "I wouldn't tell my parents about them and then I'd fake sick. From second to sixth grade, everyone thought I didn't even have parents. And honesty, it was easier that way."

Gabriella played with a loose thread on the hem of her dress. "You ever meet the Evans kids? Or Antonio's daughter?"

Troy nodded. "Once or twice. Similar to meeting you, but you and I talked for longer." The Evans twins, Sharpay and Ryan, were Vance's children, and Kelsi Nielson was the daughter of Antonio. While Troy had met them all before, each encounter was brief. Children of the gang were not to interact. It wasn't in good practice. "Have you?"

"Yeah," she said softly, "I talk to Sharpay Evans once in a while over the internet, but not in person. Other than that, I don't know them."

"It's kind of weird, isn't it," Troy said, "you'd think our parents would have had us playing together when we were in diapers. Make sure we'd carry on the 'business' or whatever."

"I figured as much, too," Gabriella whispered. "Funny how they don't force us to meet, but we all know it's what's planned for us."

Closing his eyes, Troy tried not to visibly shake at the thought. Just thinking that his future could be filled with killing, manipulation and greed made him sick to his stomach. "I know. I wonder why my parents are even paying for me to go to school. I know as soon as I graduate, they'll expect me to take an interest in...in all this."

"I just want to be done with it," Gabriella said, exhaling slowly. She leaned against the crate slowly, closing her eyes and Troy was taken aback by how gorgeous she looked in that moment. "Just a few more months and I can leave here, go to California and start fresh."

Troy's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "You heading south?" he asked, feeling his heart beat slightly. He was heading to California, too. Was it possible? "What school?"

She opened her eyes to look at him and blushed at the extreme look of anticipation on his face. "Um, Stanford."

Troy's eyes doubled in size. "Me, too," he admitted and her head shot up to look at him. "Seems you and I have the same ideals, Gabriella."

She swallowed, a lump rising in her throat as she propped herself off the stack of crates and came to stand before him. "You're going to Stanford?" He nodded. "Looks like you'll have a friend. And the same ideals?" she said almost coyly, but the slight blush on her cheeks made him realize it was a front more than anything. "Is that so?"

He tilted his head to the side and smiled at her gently. "Well, yeah," he said, raising one arm to run down the length of her own. Her skin was soft under his fingertips and he watched as she shivered at his touch. "I mean, what are we involved in? Our parents, I mean? Do they technically head the fucking mafia?"

Gabriella giggled, stepping even closer to him. "Wish I could tell you, Troy, but I don't understand it any better than you do, and being a lady, I shouldn't even dare ask questions about it."

Troy cocked an eyebrow. "Yet they'd bring you here to El Stavros? The headquarters, the place where all the shit goes down?"

Shrugging, she brought her hand up to rest on his raised forearm, his fingers still trailing across her skin. "They don't expect me to understand or question it, but like you said, they expect me to accept it and partake it in, I suppose. Carry on the family business..."

"And all that bullshit," Troy said, his eyes flickering over her face. God she was beautiful. Was it normal for his heart to beat this fast? "I know exactly what you mean. I've been looking forward to going to California for months."

A slow smile spread across her cheeks. "It's nice to know you want free of all this, too, Troy," she said, biting her lip. "I figured you'd want to jump head first into it."

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Not my style." He paused then, retracting his arm. "I can't believe it's been almost ten years since we last saw each other. Given our family ties, I figured we would have crossed paths more often."

"Same here," she said, stepping even closer to him, "I still remember playing that game of cards with you all those years ago. You beat me to a pulp."

Troy laughed and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out the deck of cards he'd hastily grabbed. "You up for a rematch?"

"You carry cards around with you?" Gabriella asked curiously. "What are you, a gambling addict?"

"No," Troy said, laughing again to cover up his embarrassment. "My dad may have mentioned you'd be here today. I figured...you know, for old times sake."

Gabriella grinned, snatching them out of his hand. "Only if I get to deal," she said, waving them over her head and he shrugged nonchalantly.

Sitting down on top of a crate filled with beer bottles, she began to shuffle the cards. "You brought them even though the last time we played we were eight years old? How did you know I wouldn't be a stuck up bitch? Didn't you assume I would have changed?"

"You have changed," Troy said, coming to sit on the crate next to her. She stopped her movements and looked at him carefully. "But not in a bad way," he continued, swallowing as his eyes darted from her eyes to her lips repeatedly. "In a very, very good way."

"Oh yeah?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he whispered, smiling. He swallowed, the memories swirling around him. "Do you remember how you kissed me on the cheek when we were kids? I was stuck on that kiss for days."

His admittance cause the air between to shift then, their eyes connecting, bodies angling towards each other. Gabriella set the cards down and scooted forwards, lifting her hand hesitantly to touch his cheek. He leaned into her palm and brought his own hand up to grip her wrist, bending his head down and inching closer to her mouth.

Suddenly, a piercing scream and the shattering of glass cut through the air and the two sprang apart. As two sharp, deafening pops joined the chaos, Troy instinctively gripped her wrist tighter, pulling her against him.

"Was that a gunshot?" she whispered, beginning to tremble and Troy nodded, bringing both arms around her to bury her against his chest.

"Yeah," he said, his heart pounding in his chest. "I don't...I—"

The door to the back-room flung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Jack stood in front of them, his hair disselved and sweat on his brow, his gun in his hand and his fingers on the trigger. He surveyed the room frantically, panicked, until his eyes fell on the teens.

"Troy!" he hissed, gesturing for them to sit up. "Get Gabriella the fuck out of here now!"

Troy flinched as he pulled himself up, dragging Gabriella with him. "What's going on, dad?" he spit out as two more gunshots were heard in the background. Jack's head jerked over his shoulder, trying desperately to keep on eye on the scene unfolding behind him and making sure his son and Josue's daughter got out.

"Nevermind that!" he shouted, "get Gabriella out and her out of here now!"

"But dad!" Troy said again, his shaky hands trying to push Gabriella's trembling figure behind him, "where are we supposed to go?"

"I don't fucking care, Troy!" his father said and Troy finally realized this wasn't the time to be asking questions. "Stop asking questions and go!"

With that, he whipped back into the main room of the bar and Troy stared at the swinging door for a split second before doing the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed Gabriella's hand and he ran.

Feeling the pounding of his heart, the slight burn in his legs and Gabriella's nails digging into his palm, Troy took one look at her frightened, pale face and squeezed his eyes shut as several more shots rang out. As he dragged her down the sidewalk, away from the building, he knew his life was going to be forever changed.

If only he knew how much.

Ducking down in the alleyway across the street from the building, Troy snuck to the ground and gathered Gabriella's shaking form in his arms. Trembling himself, he clung to her, trying to whisper soothing words and get a grip on what had just occurred.

"What just happened?" his throat felt constricted as he spoke, the words coming out harshly.

Burying her head into Troy's chest, Gabriella began to sob. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know, oh god, Troy, I don't—"

A sharp popping noise cut her off and Troy drew her even closer to him as they jumped at the gunshot. "What's going on in there?" he said, biting his lip so hard it drew blood.

Gabriella cried even harder, gripping Troy's shirt with her shaking hands. "Troy, Troy, Troy," she muttered over and over again. "I'm scared."

Troy was at a loss for what to do. Was this the real reason his father had brought him here today? Had he known something was going to transpire and that it was crucial that Troy be there to protect Gabriella? But it didn't make any sense, he and Josue wouldn't have brought either of them there if that were the case. Regardless, right now, Troy needed to man up. He had a shaking girl in his arms and he needed to be brave for her.

"It's okay," he whispered, pressing his lips against her hair and stroking her back. "It'll be alright. Don't cry." As she shook in his arms, he knew that his words and attempts were futile.

It felt like they had been sitting in the alleyway for years, but in fact, it was only a matter of minutes before the door to El Stavros flung open, three men dressed in black suits running out. One man limped as he raced down the sidewalk, while another held his shoulder; his white button up shirt drenched with blood. The man who brought up the rear looked from left to right rapidly, a gash trailing blood down his forehead, over his eye to dribble on his shirt.

"Fuck, Barone!" the man with the limp yelled back at him, "Let's get a fucking move on!"

With that, the three men took off down the street and Troy maneuvered Gabriella too look up at him. Her brown eyes were bloodshot and tears were trailing down her cheeks. In that moment, Troy felt a sudden closeness to her that he had never felt with anyone ever. Raising his hand carefully, he brushed away her tears and tried to stand, bringing her with him.

"Come on, Gabriella," he said softly, "the men seem to be gone. We have to go back."

She shook her head wildly. "Are you insane! We can't go back, what if there's still danger back in there!"

"We can't stay here!" he hissed, gritting his teeth as he held her forearms tightly, trying to steady his weak knees. "It's too dangerous out here! The gunshots have stopped and three men just ran out of El Stavros. We have to go back, this is—"

"Troy, we can't, I—"

"Gabriella!" he said, shaking her slightly, "This is a matter of_ family_. We have to go back." Seeing the terrified look on her face, he drew her to him quickly in a bone crushing hug. "It'll be fine. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide and childlike. "You promise?"

He nodded grimly. "I promise."

On shaky legs, Troy grabbed Gabriella's hand and pulled her across the street. As they approached the building, Troy leaned towards the door, situating Gabriella to stand next to him as he strained to hear what was going on inside.

"We should go back, Troy," Gabriella choked out, tugging on his hand. "Come on, let's go."

"No, Gabriella," he listened closer, able to make out the frantic voice of Vance. "I think it's safe." He turned to her, locking his eyes with hers. "Just trust me."

Nodding slowly, she swallowed before stepping forward as he reached forward to grasp the doorknob. Stepping inside, Troy couldn't explain what had possessed him to bring them back to this place; Gabriella was right, it was extremely dangerous. Even still, something that propelled him back to the building, something he knew was built into him. A solid nerve that was a part of the Bolton gene.

Pushing the door open, Troy began to cough. The smelt thick with the scent of coppery blood and ashy gunpowder hitting his nostrils. He heard Gabriella sneeze loudly and he yanked her so she was standing behind him, his body behaving as a shield.

The scene in front of them was one of pure chaos. Barstools and chairs were overturned, the wood lining the bar itself was riddled with holes from gunshots. By the backdoor was a thick, sticky looking puddle of crimson blood and a figure was lying on the ground, his face not visible. Several other men stood in front of it, blocking him from view.

Suddenly, Vance appeared in front of them, running a hand through his blonde hair, his face furious. "Troy! Gabriella! Get the fuck out of here!"

"What happened?" Troy asked panicking. Someone was hurt, and by the looks of the continuously pooling blood, badly. "Who's hurt?!"

"Didn't you listen to your father, Bolton?!" Vance all but screamed, "Take Gabriella and get the fuck out of here, get home!"

"Gabriella?" Josue's head shot up from where he was hovering over the body. "What are you doing here? Get out!"

Gabriella gripped Troy's hand and buried her head into his back, sobbing slightly. Troy however, had gone numb. Where was his father?

"Where's my dad?" he asked quietly and no one said anything for a moment. Josue stood quickly.

"You never come back when someone tells you to get out, Troy!" he barked. "Now leave!"

"Where's my dad?" he repeated and he felt Gabriella dig her nails into his palm. "Where is he?"

"Troy, leave—" Josue began but a sharp intake of breath from Gabriella took away from his orders. Troy looked over his shoulder at her and saw that her face had gone ghostly white.

"Troy," she whispered and then he knew. He dropped her hand and rushed forward, pushing past Josue and Vance, ascending on the group of men surrounding the man on the ground.

As soon as he saw his face, he staggered backwards, his knees collapsing out from underneath him. His entire life, Troy knew he would witness death and he would see things some would never begin to fathom. Things that were horrific and sinful and excruciating. He didn't want to end up in this line of business and if he were to have this way, he wouldn't, but he knew that somewhere along the line, being his father's son, he would encounter such things.

Never in a million years did he expect that he would have to see his own father laying across the floor, a gaping hole in his chest and his white shirt soaked red, coughing and spitting up blood on the floor as he face gradually turned from white to grey, his breathing erratic and raspy.

"Dad..." he whispered and Jack raised his head just barely off the ground, his dulling eyes falling on his son.

"I thought..." he choked out, coughing violently, "I thought I told you to get out..."

One strangled gasp of air later, his head fell back to the ground and one of the men hovering over him grasped his wrist, feeling for a pulse point. The blood roared in Troy's ears and he felt dizzy as he began to breathe heavily. He felt a thin pair of arms wrap themselves around his shoulders and a small figure lean against his back, falling to the ground beside him and burying her face in his neck.

Two things happened right then and there, neither of which Troy would ever forget. Firstly, his father died before him, the Bolton side of the power collapsing. Secondly, a bond cemented itself between he and Gabriella, one that he knew he would never shake, for he fell in love with her.

And he didn't.

After this father's death, he and Gabriella moved to California and attended Stanford together. Despite their earlier anticipation of meeting new people and discovering new things, they ended up only falling into each other. Their friendship was strong and unshakeable and it was Troy who first realized he was falling in love with her. However, their courtship was not dramatic or unusual; he confessed his feelings for her one night while they stayed up studying for finals and when she kissed him, he knew he never wanted anyone or anything else.

So life progressed for them, slowly, but surely, as Troy and Gabriella, a single unit. They became each other's life lines, each other's support, each other's everything. They graduated university, staying far away from The City and it's poison, determined to bring some good to the world and avoid the paths their families had made for them.

Upon moving on from his father's death, Troy majored in education, while Gabriella tried her hand at medicine. They lived in a small, cluttered apartment with leafy green plants lining the kitchen window and a cozy master bedroom. Troy taught eighth graders at a Californian elementary school whilst Gabriella studied to complete her degree in nursing. They lived a simple happy life and married when they were twenty-two, looking forward to starting a family and living the rest of their lives together.

Unfortunately, things rarely go according to plan and with one the thing after the other, the couple found themselves back where they started. Their return, or rather, entry into the world of crime wasn't a hard decision to make, however. Two years after they married, when they were twenty-four and had been together for eight years, Josue Montez fell ill and their carefully constructed world fell apart.

On his death bed in the hospital room, surrounded by his family and friends, he clutched Gabriella's hand and beckoned her husband over. Troy stood by Josue's bed, looking at him cautiously, but knowing what he was going to request.

"Troy," he breathed out, his body tired and weak, "You know what I'm going to ask, do you not?"

Troy swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yes."

"And will you do it?" Josue asked quietly and Gabriella's watery eyes fell on Troy. He met her gaze and saw the resignation reflected in them, knowing that they were going to leave their apartment and their simple life and move back.

"Yes."

That was all it took. Josue smiled softly, before closing his eyes and saying, "You're a good man, Troy. Your father would be proud."

Turning off the water of the shower, Troy stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. It wasn't merely the request of his father-in-law that had caused Troy to agree to commit himself to a life of crime. It was so much more than that. There were things he had seen for himself, for Gabriella and their life together that were just never going to happen. Aside from that, this was what his father had wanted for him, and it was about time Troy started to take some responsibility for it. And so he restructured the crime ring their father's had started along with his wife.

It was an odd thing to have Gabriella be his second in command. Women were almost never a part of the deals that went down, the decisions that were made, but Gabriella insisted upon being a part of everything. She'd come along on raids, make house-calls and organize meetings at El Stavros. However, she never would engage in combat and on the very rare occasion she had a gun, she never fired it.

She refused to injure anyone and she refused to kill and Troy for one, was thankful for it. He would not have dirty blood on his wife's hands.

Pulling a t-shirt over his head and his boxers over his hips, he walked into the bedroom and found Gabriella curled up in their bed, her laptop resting against her thighs; the bright light illuminating her features. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside her and hug her until he fell asleep. The day had been long; Chad Danforth was trouble, the fact that he had linked The City's constantly rising crime rate to Sharpay and Ryan wasn't good, despite how much delight the twins took in the insinuations. Jason Cross was another matter entirely. A do-gooder type, Troy and Gabriella had sized him up within moments of meeting him. Sliding into bed, he shot a smile at Gabriella and cuddled up to her side, thinking about what it all could mean.

Coupled with the fact that Jason was largely interested in helping The City and Chad's insistence that the Evans family was behind it all reeked of danger. Jason's money and growing power were worrisome. If Sharpay or Ryan were to leave one thing behind to trace everything back to either of them and the rest of the gang, their downfall would be immanent. Of course, with Troy on the police force, he could always try to steer Chad in a different direction.

But was that what he wanted? He needed to crack Chad Danforth, he needed to make him realize that his attempts were futile. More than that, however, Jason Cross needed to be eliminated before he proved to be a real threat. They simply could not have someone with his money and power walking around ready to defy them at any costs. It was too risky.

"You alright, honey?" Gabriella asked quietly beside him and Troy nuzzled her neck with his nose, taking in her sweet smell. She instantly calmed him.

"Yeah, I'm okay, babe," he said against her soft skin, kissing the spot beneath her ear gently. "Just thinking."

"About Cross?" she asked carefully, tapping away at the keys on her laptop as Troy stroked a scar on her bare thigh from when she had been knifed during an altercation at El Stavros the year before. He shuddered as he remembered the way she had bled at the hands of the man who was high off of cocaine and determined to get revenge on the people who had made sure his business failed after he double crossed them. Troy remembered the bullet he had shot into the man's arm as Gabriella hissed in pain before he scooped her up into his arms and left Sharpay and Ryan to finish him off. If there was one thing for certain, it was that Gabriella was his Achilles heel, but Troy wasn't afraid to show this weakness.

He was powerful enough to have a few without real danger.

He smiled at Gabriella softly, forever impressed at both her ability to read him as well as her intuition when it came to matters of their 'business'. He nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Yeah, pretty much," he let out a heavy sigh. "You know we need to get rid of him, right?"

"Of course," she responded, squinting at the page and biting her lip. "We can't have someone with that power and money running around. It's too dangerous."

Troy smiled again and pecked her cheek gently. "Exactly, I was thinking, we—" He paused, having caught a glimpse of what she was looking at on screen. "Gabriella," he said lowly, "what are you doing?"

She slammed the lid of her laptop closed and looked at her husband with hot cheeks. "Nothing!" she said quickly. "What were you thinking? We should probably start working on this Cross thing as soon as possible—

Troy retracted his arm from around her waist and ran a hand over his face, feeling his hands tremble. "Gabriella, not again, don't put yourself through this, you know at this point it's impossible."

"But it's not, Troy!" she said desperately, setting her laptop on the night-table beside her "Medicine and treatments have advanced so much in the past few years! They've come so far! It's not that out of reach for us!"

"Gabriella!" Troy snapped and Gabriella set her jaw, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. "We have been over this time and time again. Stop looking up infertility treatments, all it does is give you false hope." He scooted closer to her and his eyes softened at how sad she looked. "Baby, I can't see you go through this pain again. I can't."

"But I can, Troy," she said, looking at him tiredly. "It's not fair that this happened to us. It's not fair that they slapped us with unexplained infertility and called it a day."

"Baby, honestly," Troy let out a deep breath before leaning forward and kissing her cheek, running a hand over her hair, "honestly, now...with things the way they are, it's probably for the best."

"We're being punished you know that right?" she looked at him with hard eyes and he shivered. "For our father's sins."

"We're not being punished, Gabriella," he said, gritting his teeth. "These things just happen."

"Troy," she huffed, "you know that if we had been able to conceive, if we had brought a child into this world...you...we, would never have done this. We would have never agreed to my father's wishes."

And as much as he wished it were untrue, it wasn't. Discovering they were infertile in the second year of their marriage had been a serious blow to the pair and something Gabriella had always blamed on herself. Troy was fine, all things working well, but something about Gabriella, something that no amount of tests or procedures could explain, made it impossible for them to conceive. Their sudden dreams of two little dark haired kids with sparkling eyes and happy laughs, their father's nose and mother's lips vanished and all that was left were dark, hollow images. Knowing that they could not produce offspring made their decision easier; family was everything after all, and if they could not have one of their own, they'd have to keep their ties with the one they did have strong.

"It's not impossible, Troy," Gabriella whispered, moulding her form to his. "It could happen."

Troy shook his head and buried his face in her neck. "Gabriella, at this point...I don't want to bring a child into our mess. It wouldn't be fair to them."

"It's not just that, though, is it, Troy?" she said, pulling out of his embrace and snuggling down beneath the covers, dragging him with her.

Troy sighed as he reached over to the beside table and turned off the light, wrapping his arms around his wife and pulling him towards her. "I don't want any ties left, Gabriella," he whispered against her hair. "After we're gone, I want this to be done."

Gabriella didn't say anything for a moment, cuddling into him closer. "Well, hopefully," she said softly, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his neck, "hopefully that won't be for a long, long time."

"I love you," he whispered, bending his head down to kiss her gently. When they broke apart, he searched her face. "We'll have to meet up with Sharpay and the others tomorrow, though," he said softly.

"That's tomorrow," Gabriella said. "For now, we sleep."

---

This part is a monster. I refuse to even call it a chapter. 15,000 words, my lord. If you read all of it, I hope to god you read every single word because this chapter was set to explain and set up everything for the next two parts. This is probably filled with errors, but I want to get this up and I will edit later, so don't kill me.

...I think I need a drink.


	3. Part Two

---

**Stroke**

Part Two

---

When Gabriella Bolton was twenty-two, she imagined her life at twenty-eight to be very different than it was shaping up to be. She had pictured herself far away from The City and it's poison, had anticipated that she would have relocated to the suburbs in a smaller, happier place. Somewhere like Connecticut, maybe. She had imagined she'd be a nurse and still married to Troy of course, who would still be a teacher. By now they'd have at least one child and a golden retriever, and another on the way, with thoughts of maybe one more in a couple of years. Their house would be cozy and quaint and she would love nothing more than snuggling up in bed with Troy and their children on a lazy Sunday morning.

She had hardly anticipated that at twenty-eight, she'd be holding onto Troy's arm as they walked down the sidewalk, a block away from El Stavros.

_El Stavros_, she sneered in her mind, gripping Troy's arm tighter as they walked step in step, how she hated the place. She hated it as a kid, she hated it now as an adult. To her, it still held the same frightening darkness and no matter what, she'd still look back and see Jack Bolton sprawled out on the ground, blood dripping from his chest every time she set foot in the door. Still, it was the breeding ground for their plans, a family tradition.

Everything in her goddamn life was chocked up to tradition.

"Well, well, well," a saccharine sweet voice said as the couple stepped into the door, the icy air filtering in with them, "look what the cat dragged in."

Gabriella looked up as Troy shook his arm out of her grasp to rid himself of his coat and scarf. She smiled brightly at the blonde woman sitting at the barstool. "Hey, Sharpay," she said softly, "it's good to see you, too."

Bringing a cigarette up to lips, Sharpay grinned, She blew rings of smoke before tapping the ash away onto the floor, the pink wax of her lipstick imprinted on the butt of the cigarette. "We were beginning to think you'd never show up. What were you two doing? Fucking in the backseat of Troy's Audi?"

Rolling her eyes, Gabriella shrugged out of her own coat and handed it to Troy to hang up on the coatrack by the door.

Sharpay Evans-Baylor was, as per usual, dressed to the nines. It didn't matter where she went or what she was doing, she treated everyday as a fashion show. This afternoon she had decided on a satin magenta sleeveless dress, with a poofy skirt that hit her mid-thigh, cinched at the waist with a matching pink belt adorned with gold studs. In her ears were giant gold heart shaped earrings, a small diamond in the centre of each and on her feet shiny black patent leather pumps. She looked dressed to kill.

Which, knowing Sharpay, she just might.

Sharpay was probably the most eager, hard working and viscous member of their group. Sometimes Gabriella thought it would have made more sense if she were first in command, but alas, blood and name were more important than actually wanting to do this in the eyes of their fathers. Sharpay didn't hate killing, in fact, she was the first one to pull the trigger when the need presented itself. "_A life is a life,_" she'd say simply, blowing smoke off her gun like she would apply lipstick. "_When you make a deal with us, you're putting yours at 're signing a deal with the devils of The City. It's to be expected, they give them to us. I'm happy to take them away._"

Unlike she and Troy, Sharpay had never had any qualms about following in her father's footsteps. In fact, she had readily embraced it. When she and Gabriella were younger, they'd converse online together about anything from boys to make up to the family business and each time Gabriella would display her hesitance, her reluctance, Sharpay would jump down her throat.

"_Don't you want power?_" she would ask, "_we're having it handed to us on a silver fucking platter. Don't you want it? Imagine all that we could be, all that we are_?"

No, Gabriella didn't want power, but Sharpay certainly did. Hence why she was always on every raid without fail, even if she was asked to stay behind. Her need and love for power also gave great insight to her relationship with her husband, Zeke Baylor.

"My girl's right, though," a cheeky voice said and Gabriella glared as she sat down on a barstool. Zeke smiled back at her in response, ever the cheerful one. Zeke was tall with chocolate skin and eyes, and to anyone else, would seem completely terrifying. But it was his smile that was warmer than a radiator and it lit up the room any and every time. "You did take an awfully long time.

Zeke's father had been a henchmen, at best. Someone they sent in to do petty deeds like picking up the monthly profits from their clients or supplying them with snacks. It was only because Sharpay had fallen for the boy's baked-goods when he stopped by unexpectedly at El Stravos one afternoon that his position changed at all. Sharpay had been there, trying to get her father to hand her back her credit card because dammit, she needed the new Marc Jacobs mouse flats and she needed them now, debt not included. Zeke had been there prepping for his home economics final and had asked if she would test the cookies he had made for her. She did and the rest was history.

It was easy to see, however, that Zeke was entirely and completely wrapped around Sharpay's finger. What she wanted, she got, and Zeke had served no other purpose except for having the getaway car stashed and ready for them to escape at a moment's notice. When he did assist in raids, he was Sharpay's shadow, ready to pounce at any given second if Sharpay commanded him to do so. He was her shadow, her bodyguard and he would flat out do anything for her. Gabriella found his dedication to his wife heart-warming for the most part, but sometimes she was concerned that perhaps, Zeke was getting the short end of the stick. She and Troy had continuously discussed that he could be put to good use, be a more crucial member of the team, but everytime they presented Zeke with the opportunity, he'd turn them down. He said he was happy being who he was, Mr. Sharpay Evans-Baylor, and that was that.

"For your information," Troy cut in, wrapping his arm around his wife as he settled in on the barstool next to her, "we walked. That's what took us so long. Sorry we exercise, unlike the lot of you."

"Hey!" an indignant voice sounded. "Fucking unfair, Bolton." Gabriella glanced over her shoulder and saw Ryan Evans appear from the bathroom. "Not only did I refrain from making any comments on your sex life, but I work-out every single day."

Someone who had long ago decided he wasn't happy living in Sharpay's shadow was her twin brother, Ryan. Tall, slim, lean and blonde, Ryan was gorgeous with his blue eyes and fair skin. He was cunning and clever, less flighty and rash than Sharpay. When they were younger, Ryan was basically Sharpay's bitch. He did whatever she asked without question and he did it with a (forced) smile plastered on his face. They were an inseparable duo, although they weren't also fond of it, and it wasn't until Zeke finally stepped in that they became two separate beings.

Ryan was also gay and in The City, homosexuality was as frowned upon as the police force was. Ryan was a leaper, a disease that they needed to get rid of. Very few people knew his actual sexual orientation, however and he preferred it that way. While he was flat out disgusted by the way he was treated, it was easier and this way, he could still hold onto his power. After being in his sister's shadow all these years, he wanted nothing more than to be able to step out and hold his own. Thus far he was.

"I thought we agreed that discussing Troy and Gabriella's sex life was off limits in the bar," the sweet voice of the petite girl behind the bar said. She tucked a strand of shiny caramel coloured hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses.

A big contributing factor Ryan being able to hold onto his power despite his sexuality, was the tiniest member of their crew: Kelsi Nielson, the daughter of Antonio. After Antonio had died six years earlier from alcohol poisoning (owning a bar does that to you, apparently), Kelsi had taken over. Her bony frame and doe eyes made her look like the picture perfect example of innocence and for the most part, she was. She never engaged in combat or raids, instead choosing to keep Zeke company in the getaway car and host the meetings at El Stravos. She contributed as much as she could to the planning and was always willing to stitch someone up or tidy their wounds if things got ugly. She was sweet and kind and really, probably the most affected by what they were doing. Everytime Gabriella looked into her eyes, she saw the dull reflection of a girl who had nothing and would have nothing staring back at her.

However, Kelsi had been acting as Ryan's pseudo-girlfriend for the last three years and The City, for the most part, had bought it. Sure they only held hands and kissed only when prompted, but it worked wonderfully and Ryan was her best friend and her favourite companion. She followed the rules, believing that since she wasn't paired up with anyone in their circle, she was doomed to be alone for the rest of her life, too afraid to have such obvious weakness as a spouse. So instead she committed herself to a lifetime of misery and would go playing house with Ryan until he inevitably got sick of pretending and found something real.

"What can I get for you guys?" Kelsi asked sweetly, brandishing two tumblers and filling them with ice. "Shar's taken most of the vodka, though, I'm afraid."

Stealing a side-ways glance at her husband, Gabriella smiled. "Cream soda, please," she requested and Troy leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

"Same for me as well, Kels," he said, beaming at his wife and Sharpay gagged behind him.

"Please, can we keep the unnecessary sugar out of here?" she snipped, bringing her own glass to her mouth and taking a long sip. "We have things to discuss and the sooner we can leave, the sooner I can go shopping. I'm in need of some new sweaters."

"As much as I'm not usually one to agree with my sister," Ryan said as he took a seat on the other side of the bar, watching as Kelsi filled their glasses with bubbly pink liquid, "she's right. We have to figure out what we're going to do about Cross."

"Not to mention the raid tomorrow," Kelsi supplied. "You are still going through with it, right?"

All eyes in the room glanced at Troy and Gabriella for verification. Troy nodded slowly. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't we? Taylor Mckessie owes us and we need to make sure she knows this and we get what we so rightfully deserve."

"I told you we should have never invested in her flower shop," Sharpay said, rolling her eyes and Zeke patted her knee sympathetically. "So the question is..."

"Who's all going tomorrow?" Ryan finished. "Shar and I, obviously, and Zeke will be there with the getaway car. But Kelsi mentioned that you two might be tagging along as well?"

"We will be," Gabriella said easily, taking a long sip of her soda. "Taylor Mckessie has been blatantly hiding sums of money that she owes to us for over six months. This is no laughing matter, we can't just make her realize we mean business if Sharpay puts a bullet through the leg of her piano."

"Hey!" Sharpay protested, "that was a damn good shot!"

"Maybe so," Troy added, "but Brie's right. We've discussed it and we feel that this raid, so to speak, deserves a little bit of something extra. So we'll all be in attendance."

"Oh?" Zeke raised his eyebrows. "A little bit something extra?"

"Does this mean Gabriella will be armed this time?" Ryan asked and Kelsi shot him an angry glare. He glowered back at her. "What?"

"Shut up, you twit," she said, smacking him over the head, "or I'm outing you next time we go to a fashion show."

"You wouldn't dare..." he said, frowning.

"Oh, I would," she smirked, "you can only say that you attend all of fashion week front row for me for so long. Especially considering it's obvious I have no interest in it."

"Bitch."

"Asshole."

"Would you two idiots shut the fuck up?" Troy snapped and they immediately stopped their banter. "No, of course Gabriella won't be armed. Is she ever? Now, on to more important matters. The raid will be fairly routine, after all."

Sharpay swallowed and fiddled with one of her earrings. "Jason Cross."

Troy nodded. "Yes. He's making plans to take us down, enlisting Chad Danforth as his partner."

Zeke raised his eyebrows. "Chad Danforth? The Chief of Police? The one you've been tricking this entire time?"

"The one and only," Troy said glumly. "We all know what this means, Jason has far too much money and far too much power. If one of us slips up, even in the slightest, he could take us down instantly."

Ryan bit his lip. "So this means..."

"We take him down before he gets to us."

The room was eerily quiet. It had been a long time since they had planned a murder, had discussed taking someone's life. Their power was so rarely threatened, and now that a stuck up, desperate to be popular billionaire was threatening it, they were more than a little scared. They had no choice. Jason needed to be taken care of.

"Okay," Gabriella let out a deep breath, "so how do we want to take care of this?"

"It should be simple, really," Troy began, "but like most things we do, it isn't. It needs to be done quickly and efficiently. We need to lure him into a trap of some sort, obviously we need alibis and the like and we'll do it then. Any ideas?"

"Alright, I'm the obvious choice," Sharpay suggested. "You're making this way too complicated, Bolton. I call up Cross, we discuss our equal billionaire status and I lure him to the warehouse across town saying I want to start some new business venture and is he willing to invest? The warehouse is abandoned—you know, the one daddy uses for his shipments? He's new in town, won't know that that's where he's headed—I'll say something like it's a restaurant or a hotel. We'll catch him unaware and gun him down, hide the body and that's that."

"It's not that simple, though, Shar," Ryan said and Zeke bristled.

"I think it's a brilliant idea," he said, and his wife smiled fondly at him.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "It's basic, and yes it would work, but we have to remember that Jason obviously has been working for him. They're going to know that he's going to meet Sharpay there and she will immediately be the number one suspect."

"Then I stick around, crying up a storm and call the cops," she said, "say I found him like that, that he was dead when I got there. Then we have Troy work out the kinks, coming up with some evidence to prove that cops that this is true and I get off scott free. And if they won't have it, we pay them off. Simple as that. No one likes Jason Cross anyways."

"So that's a reason to kill him?" Gabriella interjected. She had finished her soda and was gripping the glass, her knuckles white. "Just cause no one likes him?"

"No," Sharpay said, scrunching her nose, "but it will make things easier. No one's going to miss him."

"I doubt many people would miss you, if you disappeared, too, Sharpay," Gabriella snapped before standing up and walking into the back-room.

Leaning against the crates in the back-room, Gabriella slid down to the ground and sighed. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she removed her heels and closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the anxiety that was plaguing her mind.

"Babe," a low voice said and she opened her eyes to see Troy stepping into the room. He looked around briefly before he located her on the floor. "Are you okay?" he asked, smiling slightly.

Shooting him back her own tired smile, Gabriella shrugged. "As good as I'm ever gonna be really," she said softly and watched as Troy took off his jacket and bent over to drape it over her lap and shoulders. Pulling her arms into it, she snuggled into the fabric and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. "It's just...a lot seems to be shoved in our direction at the moment."

Sliding down to the floor, he settled beside her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her. Dropping a kiss to her hair, he sighed. "I know, baby, I know. But we can handle it. We always do."

Biting her lip, she shifted in his embrace to face him. "Troy," she said slowly, carefully. She was about to bring up a topic of discussion that was never easy for him to answer and it always made her weary. "Why won't I be armed in the raid tomorrow?"

Troy's eyes turned to slits and his fingers pressed into the flesh of her waist. "Gabriella, you know why. You don't need it, you don't even _like_ having a gun. Why do you want one now?"

"Because," she said quietly, looking down, "I can't...I can't have you protecting me all of the time—"

 "Yes you can," he said simply, "I am your husband, it's not only my duty to protect you, but I want to."

Gabriella let out a heavy sigh, feeling exasperated. "But Troy, it's not exactly a smart move. What if I turn my back and something happens and—"

"Nothing is going to happen," he insisted. "You know you are my first priority in absolutely everything we do. You are in my line of sight at all times, I would know if something were to happen before the thought even crossed someone's mind."

"Oh, yeah?" Gabriella pursed her lips. "The three inch scar on my thigh says otherwise."

Troy closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. She winced, realizing she probably went too far. The incident in which she had been knifed was never one Troy liked reliving and he would forever feel guilty about it. "I've become more careful since then," he said calmly, to which she was surprised. She saw the twinge of pain cross over his eyes every time he even glanced at the white line. She had expected him to react much more harshly.

"But Troy," she said slowly, "if I had been armed—"

"You still would have gotten knifed, Gabriella," he said simply. "Besides this was early in the game. Things have changed since then, and frankly, you have never shown an interest in holding a gun ever. So there is a reason you will not be armed."

Glowering, she shifted again so her back was to him. His arms loosened around her waist slightly and she could feel that he was getting frustrated, angry with her stubborn attitude. "Gabriella," he tried, but she cut him off.

"Our fathers worked hand in hand, Troy," she spit, "the Bolton side may have had more power, but that does not mean that your father did not take mine seriously, and in case you've forgotten, just because it says Bolton on my driver's license does not make me any less of a Montez."

"Fuck that, Gabriella, my father had more power and you know it," he said through gritted teeth. "My father said jump and yours asked how high? You are right, you are a Montez and I am a Bolton and I am telling you, when we raid Mckessie's apartment tomorrow, you will not be having a gun."

"Fuck you!" she snapped, jumping up and out of his grasp, "My father was not one who got thrown around and you know it, don't even pretend just because you have some manly pride that you feel is being threatened if I'm armed!"

"It's not manly pride, Gabriella," he hissed, "I fucking _love_ you, don't you get it?"

"Then why would you not want me to be as safe as possible?" she spat back, her face flushed. She could hear the voices on the other side of the door hush and she lowered her own. She didn't want the others listening to them fight, it would only cause trouble and tension all around.

"Yes!" he responded hotly, obviously not noticing the quiet in the bar. "Of course I do! And having a gun isn't going to make you anymore safe, Gabriella! The only way that could happen is if you didn't come at all!"

"Well that's not going to happen!" she said harshly. "You know, my father may have been second in command, but your father never treated him as such. He wanted to do a raid, your father let him. He wanted a gun, your father gave him two. I don't understand why—"

"Because your father didn't mean _everything_ to mine!" he snapped and she froze, hearing the desperation and raw emotion in his voice. "Your father wasn't my father's _world_." He looked up at her and she shivered when she saw the look in his eyes. He came and stepped closer to her, pulling her against him and burying his face in her neck.

"Things are different now, Gabriella," he said softly, "Bolton and Montez, they don't just _work_ together anymore. This time around, they're...you and I, we're _married_. The stakes are higher. So please, just let me protect you."

Crumpling into his chest, she sighed, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. "What good am I, though, Troy?" she all but whimpered. "I can't give you children, I can't help in a raid. What use am I? I'm absolutely useless, a waste of space."

He pulled back slightly, stunned. "Gabriella," he said, letting out a deep breath, his jaw dropping slightly. How could she think that? She was everything to him, she was a part of him. Without her, he was nothing. "What are you even saying?"

"Exactly what you think I'm saying," she murmured. "At this point in the game, I can't do anything to help you."

"Gabriella," he said sternly, grabbing her arms, "you are my partner, you are a Bolton now. Just because you don't have a gun, and despite what I said earlier, you have just as much power as I do. You and I call the shots, if you're not up for something, you know I won't go through with it."

As she trembled in his arms, he tried desperately to think of something to make her think otherwise. After what he had just said moments ago, though, how was that possible? "Look," he said simply, "you are my other half. You are my best friend, you are my family, my lover, my wife. You are my world, I've said it enough times and that makes you the most worthwhile thing ever."

"You make it easier to breathe, Brie," he said, ducking his head down. "You make it easier to go through with this day in and day out. I can't do this without you. That's what you do."

Gabriella bowed her head underneath his chin, her small hands gripping his shirt. "It's just...sometimes...this just seems so much bigger than I can handle," she said, her voice cracking. "It's just so much more than us."

Running a hand over her hair, Troy tucked his fingers under her chin and lifted it, looking down into her eyes. "This was never the life I had planned for us, you know that right?" When she nodded, he sighed and leaned down, pecking her lips gently. "This has always been a lot bigger than you and I, Gabriella," he said, grabbing her hand and enlacing their fingers, turning her wedding band slowly. "But what we have, who we are...we're better than it."

"Troy—" she said, her voice thick with tears and he brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs and he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"We are, Gabriella," he said quietly. "We are."

He kissed her again, slowly, gently and lovingly and she melted into him. The bubble burst on the other side of the door and the sound ripped through the walls, conversation commencing. For the moment, everything was fine, quiet, calm. They savored it.

With their lives, it wouldn't last.

---

"I don't really see why all of us are here at this raid in particular," Sharpay said loudly, running her hand over the mantle. She looked over the photographs that depicted a life—friends and family, major events—and she rolled her eyes. It was always the ones with values, always the ones that wanted to do good that were the ones who tried to screw them over.

Taylor Mckessie had entered El Stravos a year prior and had all but begged the Boltons and the Evans to invest in her small flower shop across town. It had belonged to her mother, she explained, and it meant to the world to her. Since mommy dearest fell ill two years earlier, the shop had suffered as a result—Taylor knew next to nothing about business—and it was becoming nearly impossible to have any semblance of a profit. She had cried as they had listened as she told the sad tale of wanting to make her mother proud, to show her that even when she was gone, the flower shop would still prosper.

At the time, Sharpay had narrowed her eyes and watched her skeptically. It was one thing to wish to do something for a family member, but if she honestly thought her mother would be proud that she was handing over her dear business to the bad guys, she was sorely mistaken. She knew the flower shop in question, with it's soft pink walls and the cat that lived there, causing customers who were allergic to sneeze as she rubbed against their shins. She had been there once or twice and hadn't been horribly impressed, but it was decent, to say the least. Sharpay was never one for compliments, after all.

She had contemplated, briefly, suggesting that perhaps they should turn her down. It was obvious from her demeanor and determination that Taylor Mckessie was hardly the kind of person that could handle what they could dish out. One wrong move and she'd be on her knees, just like anyone else. Others, however, could probably take it. Taylor didn't seem like she could and in the past, they lost more than they gained by investing in people like her. She knew it was hopeless, however. She was under the command of Troy and Gabriella, who despite no longer having a real one of their own, put family before everything. They could understand Taylor's desire to help her mother, could understand her dedication.

And so they invested. They spread the word of Taylor's business far and wide, using her at their own private functions several times and recommending her to every client that they could manage. Her business had an insane surge in profit and she was more than ecstatic. For the first six months, Taylor kept her end of the deal up nicely. She paid them their share of the profits on time, sometimes even earlier, and Sharpay considered that maybe she had been wrong about her. Maybe she was more than capable of playing the game. That was, however, until after those first six months, Taylor decided to change the rules.

It was slow at first; she simply cut fifteen percent of their share without telling them, stating that she was having a bad month and blaming the ever deteriorating economy. They, however, weren't stupid. What Taylor didn't know, was that they kept a track of her books, a track of her records. It was something Gabriella took upon doing herself. As with all of their clients, they had a key cut and copied so they had access to both her apartment, as well as the shop. Once every two weeks, after Taylor had closed up for the night, Gabriella would break in and take a peek at what had accumulated and see what she was hiding from them. It was simple, she was making far more money than she imagined, so of course, the amount she owed them increased as well. However, like many of their clients, she figured she could keep this information on the down low. Keep them out of it and unaware. When they met up at El Stravos the next day and Gabriella produced photo copies of the pages from Taylor's books, Sharpay knew she had been right.

Taylor Mckessie was not the kind of person who could handle them.

They let her carry on with her game for a few weeks, waiting for her to slip up and hand over the money. They stopped promoting her shop and her business faltered. Suddenly, it was becoming difficult for Taylor to raise enough money to pay the rent of the shop, nevermind a profit. That was phase one—surely she would sense that her sudden lack of business had to do with something to them. But when she didn't, when she continued to decrease the amount of the profit she gave to them, that's when they decided to organize the raid.

Which brought them to where they were tonight. Sharpay was decked out in black skinny jeans and a long black cardigan, hot pink rounded toed stilettos on her feet. Her long blonde hair was swept up into a bun and hidden underneath a chestnut brown wig, a fuzzy black beret on top of her head. Ryan was also wearing a brown wig and a large mustache. Troy's hair was hidden underneath a dark blue beanie and Gabriella was sporting a mass of blonde curls. It wasn't something they did often, wear costumes or disguises, but considering the special circumstances of this visit—that each member was present—it was necessary. If someone were to recognize them all together in one spot, the results would be far more disastrous than had it just been one or two of them.

"We're all here, Sharpay," Gabriella said as she settled down on Troy's lap, who was sitting on the leather couch in Taylor's living room, "because this is her final warning. Not only will she give us the money, but we're letting her know that we're cutting ties. We are, essentially, giving her the separation papers."

Sharpay nodded slowly, reaching into her back pocket and depositing her gun. "So it's not like with Grayson, then? I don't get to beat her up?"

Troy shook his head. "No. Not right away, anyways."

From across the room, Ryan looked over his shoulder. He had been gazing out the huge picture window, observing The City's skyline at night. "So when do we know to give it to her, then?"

"We start off with scare tactics, you know this Ryan," Troy said, skimming his hand up and down the length of Gabriella's thigh. "Gun shots, yelling, the usual. She's a woman, chances are she'll be frightened easily and we'll get out of here."

Gabriella cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?"

Troy laughed. "Exactly what you think it means, baby," he said, gazing down at her leather clad legs. "You just had to wear the leather pants, didn't you?"

"Hey!" Sharpay snapped, irritated. "Focus, would you?"

"Sharpay," Gabriella said bluntly, "You will know when to strike, you always do. If she starts acting up, if she starts attempting to throw a punch or resist, you get to roundhouse kick her into next year."

Smirking to herself, Sharpay nodded, pleased. "Good. Sounds like a plan."

"Have you mapped out the escape routes, Ryan?" Gabriella asked carefully, glancing about the room. She stood from Troy's lap and he pouted, lamenting the loss of her warmth and her legs in the tight, black leather pants. She folded her arms over her chest, pulling her studded black sweater closer to her body. Ryan nodded as she came to stand beside him.

"You got it, Bolton," he said, glancing about the room. "Hopefully, if all goes well, we won't have to use any of them and we can exit through the front door. This window here is all glass and since she is on the fourth floor, it's quite a jump down. If completely necessary, we blow this window out and jump. The fall will be wicked, expect to shatter at least one or two, maybe three bones. This is the last resort, you got me?" He surveyed the room, waiting for his comrades to agree. When they nodded in compliance, he continued. "The master bedroom down the hall, however, has a balcony and there are several balconies below it all the way down. If the need be, we can repel down them to the ground, safe and sound, all bones fully intact. Kelsi and Zeke are in the car parked outside the building, ready to leave at any given moment."

Troy bit his lip, rising and looking down the hall. "Any other alternates?"

Ryan shook his head. "To be honest, this is a shitty place for a raid, but we have no choice in the matter."

"Hmm," Gabriella said, leaning against the glass of the window. "Thankfully, the police station is thirty minutes across town and it's rush hour traffic time. Even though they'll ignore the speed limit, they still will most likely not arrive until eight to ten minutes after the first gunshot. It's a rough estimation, but it should be fairly accurate. That gives us enough time to frighten Mckessie into giving us what we want and then enough to show her whose boss in case things get ugly."

Troy grinned brightly at his wife and came to stand in front of her, grasping her hips and pulling her against him. "Look at my super smart math genius wife. You're all jealous, just admit it."

Gabriella smiled at him while Ryan rolled his eyes and Sharpay gagged. "Thank you, husband dearest," she said jokingly. "But there is a worse case scenario."

Troy raised an eyebrow and the Evans shot to attention. "Which would be?"

"We get out of here empty handed," she said simply, "you know at the end of the day if there seems like a chance the cops could crack down on us, we abort."

"And how long do you think it will be before we have a good feeling about that or not?" Sharpay asked and Gabriella bit her lip.

"We'll know within the first three minutes," she said definitely. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine-forty five. Suddenly, a click was heard at the door and she saw the doorknob start to turn. She smirked at her companions.

"Showtime," Sharpay whispered before leaning slumping against the fireplace. Ryan took his place at the window and Troy sat back down on the couch, pulling Gabriella back into his lap.

A soft voice was humming as the door opened and Taylor stepped into reveal herself. Flicking on the lights, she turned and gasped, a hand pressed to her chest when she discovered that she had visitors.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, feeling her heart race. The four figures in the room smiled back at her and she felt her blood run cold.

"Good evening, Ms. Mckessie," a smooth voice said and her eyes fell on Troy. His hand was twined in Gabriella's blonde curls, the other holding his gun. "Did you have a good day?"

"I—" Taylor began but Troy held his hand up.

"I hope you did, Mckessie," he said, "because your evening is going to be rather dismal, I'm afraid."

Taylor swallowed thickly, shoving her door closed behind her and locking it quickly. A cold sweat had gathered on her brow and she was trembling. "Get out of my apartment," she hissed lowly, "you have no reason to be here." At this, Sharpay cackled.

"Oh, you're fucking kidding me," she exclaimed, sounding almost hysterical. "You're kidding, Mckessie, you're kidding." She looked over at her brother. "She's kidding, right?"

Ryan laughed along with her. "I don't think so, sis," he said happily. "I think she's serious. I think she really is behaving as if she doesn't have a clue as to why we're here."

Sharpay let out another howl of laughter. "Oh, that's rich, really, really rich. That's hysterical. One for the records." She settled her piercing brown eyes on Taylor and tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, tapping the butt of her gun to her chin in thought. "Bolton and Bolton," she cooed, "do you think one of us should explain to Mckessie here why we're paying her an unexpected visit?"

Taylor clenched her hands by her sides. "I'll call the police!" she snapped, her voice wavering. "You broke in!"

"Ah, ah," Troy said, reaching into the pocket of Gabriella's pants and revealing the key to her apartment. "How could we break in when we had a key? We simply walked in. Hardly serious stuff." He looked down at his wife and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Babe, you're the brains here. Tell Mckessie why we're here."

"Certainly," Gabriella said, adjusting herself on Troy's lap. "You see, Taylor," she paused, "Can I call you Taylor? I'm going to call you Taylor. Anyway, you just so happen to owe us an extremely large amount of money. Seems as if you've been holding back on us."

Breathing heavily, Taylor shook her head. "I...how...how do you possibly know this?"

Gabriella cocked to her head and smiled. "I took a peak at your books, silly. They were very well organized. Colour coded and everything."

"How?" Taylor said, panicked. "How did you have access to that?"

"Oh, darling," Gabriella said, leaning back into Troy as he snaked his hands around her waist. "We have a key to your apartment. Certainly we have access to your books, as well."

"All we're asking," Ryan said, propping himself off the wall. "Is that you hand over the money and you do it quickly."

"I don't have it!" Taylor exclaimed, "what possibly makes you think that I have it here?"

Sharpay rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh, please, it's _always_ in the apartment. You have a safe in your walk in closet or something like that, don't give us that bullshit."

"You don't understand," Taylor said desperately, "there's no money."

"What do you mean?" Troy asked slowly, sliding Gabriella off of his lap and standing up. Sharpay's eyes grew wide and she exchanged a glance with Ryan. This wasn't good. Anytime Troy took matters into his own hands, they knew they were in trouble.

"I mean it's gone!" Taylor yelled, tears falling down her cheeks freely now. "Do you know how difficult it is to keep up a business in this town? All of it is gone, all the money I saved is spent! I can barely pay my rent, what did you expect?"

"I expected," Troy said slowly, "to get what is owed to me. You haven't delivered. You're meaning to tell me you have nothing? That there is absolutely nothing that you can give to us?"

Shaking her head weakly, Taylor collapsed to the ground. "No," she whimpered, "I have nothing."

Troy looked over his shoulder at his wife, gauging her reaction. A part of him had worried that she would be concerned, feeling sympathy for this woman. He couldn't lie, inside he was screaming. How could he do this, how could he make this poor, poor woman fall to her knees?

The answer was simple: it was what was expected of him. He was his father's son.

Sighing heavily, Troy folded his arms. "Well, I guess we have no choice then," he said stiffly. "Ryan? Would you do the honors? Sharpay, you can step in as well."

Grinning, he stroked his fake mustache and pulled out his gun, his finger setting on the trigger. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask." He smiled at his sister. "Well, go ahead, Shar, ladies first."

"Such a gentleman," Sharpay said sweetly. "Daddy taught you well." Leaving her spot at the mantle, she walked three steps forward before digging her hand into Taylor's locks of brown hair and yanking her to stand.

Ignoring the woman's yelps of pain, Sharpay brought her knee up and slamming it into Taylor's stomach, causing her to gasp out as the wind left her body. Tugging her forward by the hair, Sharpay pressed her gun's cold mouth to Taylor's pulse point on her neck.

"You stupid bitch," she shrieked, "you really thought you could get away with this? God, Gabriella?" she glanced at her counterpart. "Why are people so fucking stupid?"

Gabriella laughed as if it was the most hilarious thing she had heard in her life. "Oh, God, Sharpay I ask myself that everyday!" she grinned, showing off her white teeth. "Maybe it's because they're too dumb to realize that we play hardball. We don't fuck around!"

As her venomous words hit Taylor, Sharpay raised her hand and smacked her across the cheek, hard. "You hear that you bitch?" she snapped and Taylor whimpered. "You understand what we're saying?"

"I'm sorry!" Taylor sobbed. "You don't understand, you don't know—"

"We know perfectly well just how difficult running a business is, Mckessie," Troy said slowly, "so don't feed us that bullshit. Crying isn't going to get you anywhere."

"I just..." Taylor said again, her voice breaking and Troy flinched then, looking away from her. He glanced at Gabriella who set her jaw and nodded. Troy let out a deep breath. No, he needed to stand his ground.

"I don't think you get it, Mckessie," Troy said, "I don't think you understand. I mean, Shar here has a gun pressed to your neck. One shot and you're dead, yet you still protest?"

"Take anything you want!" Taylor pleaded, frozen in Sharpay's grasp. "My television, my jewelry, my China! I just don't have the money!"

"That's not good enough!" Ryan yelled. "Don't you get it, Mckessie? We could steal your TV, we could steal your jewelry, we could steal your China. But what good would it do? We'll have to pawn it and we'll get only a fraction of what we deserve back." He laughed bitterly. "That's not worth it at all. Do you really think we're stupid enough to take a deal like that?"

Taylor shook her head weakly. "No, I just—"

"Let me explain something to you," Ryan said slowly, as if speaking to a child. "This," he pointed his gun to her television set, "is a lot more fun." With a loud bang, he pulled the trigger and shot directly into the center of the TV, the glass shattering and a stream of smoke escaping from the hole.

Sobbing profusely, Taylor shook in his arms. "Please don't..."

"But you said we could take it," Ryan said confused. "You offered it. We don't want it. We just want to have fun. Don't we, sis?"

"Of course!" Sharpay said, sounding scandalized. She dug her gun deeper into Taylor's flesh. "All we want is to have fun! Isn't that right, Bolton Squared?"

"Fun is certainly a benefit, yes," Gabriella said, smiling softly. "Right, honey?"

Troy smiled back at his wife. "Of course, baby, of course. Ryan you haven't had fun in sometime, have you?"

Snarling, the man shook his head. "No. I'm gay, Mckessie and you do know how difficult it is to be a homosexual in The City? It's fucking awful. So I have to get my kicks elsewhere." He raised his gun and shot at her China cabinet one, two, thee, four times, shattering the glass and the plates within it. "This is one way."

"We have approximately five minutes before the cops arrive," Gabriella said, standing up and draping her arms around her husband's neck.

"Hear that, Mckessie?" Sharpay said sweetly, "five more minutes. What should we do with these five minutes?"

Troy scrunched his face up in thought, the sounds of smashing glass rattling in the background as Ryan threw plate after plate, tea cup after tea cup to the ground. "Geez, I don't know. Did you have anything in mind, Shar? I mean, Ryan seems to be enjoying himself."

"That's my brother!" she said cheerfully. "But, oh, I don't know, can we kill her?"

Troy winched. "But that would be awfully messy," he ducked his head down and pulled his wife closer to him. "What do you think, Bolton?"

Gabriella bit her lip and Troy saw the flicker of pain, of apprehension of, pure self-loathing cross her eyes and he wanted to cry. She was hating this, he was hating this, they were all hating this. Yet the game would continue.

"Well, Bolton, I—"

Suddenly, a loud pounding game at the door, the nob ratting and a fierce banging coming from the outside. The four parties looked at each other, panicked, before conveying what needed to be done almost telepathically. Ryan was the first to act, running down the hallway as fast as he could to the master bedroom. Troy scooped Gabriella up and threw her over his shoulder, racing down after him and Sharpay whacked Taylor in the head with her pistol before flinging her to the ground.

"I thought you said we had five minutes, Bolton!" she yelled, "what the fuck?!"

"Something's not right!" Gabriella yelled, "someone else is here. Someone else lives in this building.?

"Hurry the fuck up, Evans!" she heard Troy scream as Ryan threw open the balcony doors. Gabriella crawled up Troy's back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he held the bottom of her thighs. Sharpay looked around, her heart pounding as she tried to get to them. The master bedroom was too far away, she wouldn't make it in time. She watched as her brother and the Boltons made their way out over the balcony and she swallowed thickly. She had a split second to make a decision.

Raising her gun, she shot the glass of the large picture window and hissed in pain as the shards of glass shattered and pierced her skin. Behind her, the door flung open and three men holding guns stood in front of her.

"Hands up!" one of the men yelled, his dark curly hair flying, "you're under arrest!"

Acting purely on instinct, Sharpay shot the man beside him in the shoulder swiftly, before turning back to the window, taking a deep breath and jumping.

This was going to hurt.

Chad Danforth ran to the edge of the broken window as one of the men with him slumped to the ground, blood streaming from his left shoulder down to the floor, while the other tended to the unconscious Taylor. He glanced around, trying to see the brown haired woman. Undoubtedly, she should be sprawled out on the ground. But looking around, she was no where to be seen.

"Dammit!" he screamed, pounding his fist on the ground, pieces of glass wedging their way into his flesh. She had gotten away.

One thing was for certain, now, however. He finally knew who was behind this. He had been right all along.

It wasn't just a woman who got away. Even with the brown hair, he knew. It was Sharpay Evans who had escaped.

It was only a matter of time before he had her.

---

Troy took a deep breath as he stood out the door to Chad's office, straightening the lapels of his jacket. His heart was pounding, but it was now or never. This had to be perfect.

One.

Two.

Three.

Action!

Slamming the door open, it smashed against the wall with a bang and Troy was pleased to see Chad jump in his chair. Banging the desk with his fist, Troy glared at him before opening his mouth and beginning to speak.

"What the fuck, Danforth?" he yelled, "what the fuck are you playing at?" 

Chad's eyes narrowed and he stood from his chair up to his full height, folding his arms. "Stand down, Bolton, I am your chief and you will not speak to me like that!"

Troy bristled. He wasn't used to be talked down to. "No, what the fuck, Danforth. What the fuck happened yesterday and why was I not informed?!"

"Sit down and shut up, Bolton," Chad barked, but Troy was not relenting.

"No," Troy spit, "you nearly cracked down on the biggest crime ring in the city! You had leads to this and you never told me, you with-held information from me! We're supposed to be in this together, Danforth!"

"I had my reasons for not calling you!" Chad yelled, slamming his own fist on the table. "If you could sit down and shut the fuck up for five minutes, I could tell you what went down."

Troy shook his head dramatically. "Fuck that! You never called, why did no one tell me! I should have been the first person you called for back-up and you left me out of the loop!" 

"There was no fucking time to call you, Bolton!" Chad's eyes were dark and had Troy not seen the many frightening things he had through his lifetime, he would have flinched. As it was, he merely stared back, undaunted. "If you cannot realize that then you can hand in your badge and gun and get the fuck out of my office."

Troy blanched. Bingo. His performance had gone over well. In his time at The City's police force, he had quickly discovered that acting and performing was something he was going to have to do rather often. He embraced it as best as he could, rather having enjoyed theatre during high school (not to the extent the Evans did, but enough) and found that it was only when the reactions around you were strong enough did it prove that the act was convincing.

The ramifications of yesterday's raid and it's events, admittedly, had Troy and Gabriella shaken. It was much, much too close—they had very nearly been caught, after all, and their hearts were in their mouths the entire drive home, anxious to see what would be awaiting them. When they arrived back at their house to discover that things were quiet and it was apparent that no one suspected them, they had breathed sighs of relief and Gabriella had proceeded to spend the rest of the night crying and trembling in Troy's arms. It crucial that Chad be under the impression that they had nothing to do with the raid at Mckessie's apartment the day before.

But the same didn't go for Sharpay. Zeke had collected her from where she had jumped from the window, her wrist broken and her ankle sprained. Aside from several bruises and a gash along the side of her head, however, she had sustained no other injuries. But she had looked Chad in the eye, had told Troy herself. They were screwed. There was a chance that their entire operation was in jeopardy.

Bristling, Troy ran a hand through his hair and slumped into the chair on the other side of Chad's desk. Raising his hands in defeat, he sighed and watched as Chad relaxed and sat down across from him. His stance was still slightly stiff—he was ready to be on the defensive if Troy provoked him—but he was notably calmer. Good, this was very good. Now Troy needed to know what Chad knew.

"I'm not going to apologize for being angry," Troy said diplomatically, "because I feel I have every right to be. But what happened, Danforth? Why didn't you have time to call me? What went down?"

Running a hand over his face, Chad groaned. "It's personal now, Bolton."

Troy cocked an eyebrow as his heart began to race. Oh, shit, what did he know?

Swallowing slightly, he bit his lip. "How so?"

"The reason I didn't call you," Chad began slowly, "was because I had no idea that we were going to be busting anyone at all. Adams and Lachance were at my house already—poker night, remember?" Troy nodded. He had been invited, but had declined under the pretense that he and Gabriella had a date. "That's when we heard the shots go off across the hall."

Wait, what? "Across the hall?" Troy asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

Chad nodded. "Yes. Taylor Mckessie is my neighbor."

This time, Troy's stomach fell to the floor. Shit. Shit. They had unknowingly conducted a raid of a client's apartment and she just happened to live in the same complex as the Chief of Police. How fucking stupid were they? How could they have done this?

"Oh," he said instead, his mind running a million miles an hour. He swallowed. She couldn't have been the one who Chad had been vaguely discussing a couple of days before, was she? "She's not the one who you...she's not—"

"Yes," Chad answered, catching on. "She's the one. And that is why this is personal." He sighed roughly, running a hand through his hair. "You should have seen her, Troy. She was lying on the ground, her face red and bruised, a lump the size of a baseball on her temple from where she had been knocked out. It makes me sick. These...these people are sick."

Troy looked down at his hands, hoping that the sound of his beating heart was only loud to his ears. It was personal, they were directly playing with fire. Playing with the enemy. It was so fucking dangerous of them, so fucking stupid. He closed his eyes and thought, briefly for a moment, what he would have done if he had been in Chad's situation. If someone had been trying to hurt Gabriella.

Instantly his fingers clenched into fists at his side and he knew.

"So I am sorry I didn't call you, that you weren't informed, Bolton," Chad said thickly, "but I had my reasons. It was a shock all around. Adams was shot and now the Commissioner is pissed at me for entering without us being on duty and without vests."

"What do you mean by that?" Troy asked cautiously and watched as Chad rolled up his sleeves. From the bottom drawer of his desk, he pulled out a manilla folder. From it he produced a series of papers.

"There was a planned raid at Mckessie's apartment last night, Bolton," he said simply, "and she was there and all members of whoever is behind this...mafia-esque group, they were all present. She is in deep shit because she owes them something." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Which means that she's involved in it, too, to some level."

No kidding, Troy thought, she owed them nearly fifteen-thousand dollars in unpaid debts and hidden profits from her flower shop. The raid had been her final warning. Women were different, more fragile and special in their eyes. But when she still failed to pay up, they had but no choice to go in for the kill. Hence why everyone had been in attendance.

Of course, Troy couldn't let Chad know this.

"Did you get a glance at any of the people there?" he asked, carefully. If he had identified Sharpay, things were about to become even more complicated.

"The woman," Chad said slowly and scoffed, "there's woman that is a part of this operation, can you believe it? Well, her hair was brown, but I glimpsed her face and she looked me in the eye. There was no doubt about it."

Gulping, Troy felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. "Who was it?"

"Sharpay Evans," Chad said simply. "I told you they were involved in this Bolton, I told you."

Nodding weakly, Troy felt like he was going to pass out. His knees went numb and he could feel the colour draining from his face. "Fuck," he breathed. "I can't believe it."

"Well you had better," Chad said simply. "Neither Adams nor Lachance got a good look at her, so we can't exactly arrest her. I would ask that you keep this information between us."

"But why?" Troy asked, confused. Chad knew Sharpay was behind it. Now it was only a matter of time before they caught her and then tracked her back down to him. Wouldn't Chad want to arrest her and as soon as possible?

"Because we have someone else who is stepping in. Someone else who can allegedly help us."

"Who?" There was a third party in this now? Shit, shit, shit.

"Knock, knock!" an obscenely cheery voice said and Troy whirled around in his seat to see one Jason Cross standing there, dressed in a Hugo Boss suit and smiling brightly. Troy cringed.

Shit.

Chad smiled slowly upon seeing him. "Mr. Cross, it's a pleasure to see you again," he said, standing up and shaking his hand.

"You as well, Danforth," he said brightly, before extending his hand to Troy. "Detective Bolton." 

Troy shook his hand again firmly, realizing he had a strong, gripping handshake. He wasn't weak. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cross."

"You see, Troy," Chad began, "Mr. Cross here is the richest, most powerful man in the city right now."

Jason laughed, scoffing slightly as if this were untrue. "What a title, Mr. Danforth!" he proclaimed. "What a title indeed!"

Chad grinned. "And as such, he has many, many connections and hopefully has some very good news for us."

"Yes I most certainly do," Jason said with great flourish. "And I didn't even have to work to get it."

Troy blinked slowly, his comprehension skills slowly betraying him. "Get what, exactly? I apologize, I've been drastically out of the loop."

"Well, Detective Bolton," Jason began, "at the banquet the other night, Danforth and I here came up with a plan that I would arrange a business meeting with the Evans in hopes of cornering them. Considering they wouldn't suspect a business man such as myself to be interested in anything else, I surely could convince them that I was interested in having them invest in my business and hope that it would further prosper."

Troy cocked an eyebrow. Uh huh. There was no way this would happen: they wouldn't invest in Jason's business even if it hadn't been a set up. He was already too rich, too powerful and they wouldn't want to further this. If anything, they'd falsely invest and run him into the ground just to get rid of him.

But things were heavier now and merely ruining his business wasn't enough to make him disappear. Jason needed to be gone, in every single sense of the word.

"So," Jason continued, "we decided to that I would call to arrange the meeting this week, but I didn't even have to because an hour ago, guess what happened?"

"What?" Chad asked eagerly, "what happened?"

Jason grinned. "One Sharpay Evans called me up. She and her brother are interested in doing business. Turns out she's interested in starting up a magazine. This is the perfect, absolutely perfect in that we need!"

At that moment Troy wanted to cry. The next part of the plan had already been set in motion; Sharpay had obviously already asked Jason to meet. She had already set up the raid. What the fuck was her deal, she should have waited to clear it with Troy after what happened yesterday. God, she was so fucking stupid.

His fingers itching, desperate to call Gabriella, he took a deep breath, trying to keep his mask on straight. "So what happens next?" he asked carefully, attempting to make it seem like he was every bit excited about the prospects of finally cracking down on the case they had spent years working on.

"Well," Jason said, leaning against the wall, "we're meeting at a restaurant across town tomorrow afternoon, along with her brother, Ryan. I'll be wired, and with some luck, we can get her to speak of her 'real' business dealings. You and Chad will be on stand-by and then you can enter and arrest them both."

A slow grin spread across Chad's face. "And then it'll be done."

Jason nodded. "Yep. And then it'll be done."

---

Joining the police force had probably been the smartest move Troy had made as the first in command. He had efficiently and entirely created an alibi. He was considered one of the good guys, he had so much power that no one dare cross him. He had the police force under wraps and The City. No one would speak a word simply because he'd have them dead a moment after the words left their mouth.

Basically, what it came down to was that Troy was a really, really good liar. He was quick thinking, able to come up with reasons why he had to miss certain events, why he hadn't been present for this and why he had so many inside clues on certain cases. No one ever grew suspicious of him and it was easier keeping his secret from Chad than he had thought it would be. It was all about trust, all about pretending that he was something he wasn't. He kept Chad close by, kept him within reach. That way, Chad never suspected him.

That way, in Chad's eyes, he could be trusted and was always going to be one of the good guys. Goddamn, Troy was good at what he did.

Lying was something Troy Bolton was ridiculously good at, so in an attempt to make sure all of his lies were tied up in neat packages and that no one could see through the wrapping, he invited Chad over for dinner that night. He had accepted, saying that he could use the company and a home cooked meal.

"Seriously, thank you so much," Chad said, pushing back his plate and smiling largely. "Gabriella it was delicious. The best meal I've ever eaten."

Gabriella smiled brightly and picked up their plates, stacking them on top of one another. "It's just grilled chicken and vegetables," she said with a giggle, "hardly anything gourmet."

"No, really," Chad continued, patting his full stomach, "I am stuffed and it was delicious, but I bet you I could still eat more."'

Laughing, Gabriella placed the dishes in the sink before coming to stand beside her husband. "Wow, Chad," she said with a grin, "you sure know how to make a girl feel appreciated."

"Hey," Troy whined and pulled her into his lap, "I make you feel appreciated."

"Ehn," Gabriella said with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes. "You're okay."

Troy raised his eyebrows and peppered her neck with sloppy kisses, Gabriella squealing. "Troy!" she said, "we have company!"

Snapping back to reality (the one in which they were not alone), Troy smiled at Chad sheepishly. "Sorry, man," he said bashfully, "force of habit."

Chad shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Nah, it's okay," he said softly. "You two are lucky to have each other. You should take advantage of it as much as you can."

Gabriella frowned, her mask slipping into place. "I heard about what happened to your neighbor," she said and at Chad's surprised look, elaborated. "Well, Troy told me. That's awful."

Running a hand through his hair, Chad nodded. "Yeah, we''ll, some people out there are sick," he rubbed the heel of his palm over one eye. "But we're cracking down on them, aren't we, Bolton?"

Smirking, Troy squeezed Gabriella's hip underneath the table, "We most certainly are."

"Seriously, Gabriella," Chad said firmly, "there's not another man I would rather have on this case with me than your husband. He is one hundred percent dedicated and ready to spring into action. You can sleep safely at night knowing he's by your side."

"Don't I know it," Gabriella said, squeezing the fingers of Troy's other hand. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Everything was going to fall apart very, very soon.

"We're so close, I can almost taste it," Troy said and Chad nodded. Once again, Gabriella was astounded by her husband's brilliance, his ability to spin almost every lie into golden truth. "We have such strong leads, now, Brie."

"Which I wish you would tell me about," she pouted, "he only tells me the rough details, not the full thing. A girl's curious!"

"Nah, it's probably for the best that you stay out of it, Gabriella," Chad said with a smile, "you're his Achilles heel, after all. Better that you stay under wraps or else Troy's gonna develop a Spiderman complex."

Troy laughed. "Chad has a Spiderman complex. He's afraid to get serious with a woman because of his job."

"Ah," Chad said with a sigh, "but let me tell you a secret. After this case, after we crack down on the sick minded people that have turned The City into what it is, I'm retiring."

"You're what?" Troy asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm retiring," Chad said bluntly, "handing in my badge, going to work an office job or something. I'm gonna get myself a wife and the white picket fence and a couple of kids. And they'll be no more of this Spiderman nonsense."

Troy smiled at him weakly, his heart lurching. Sometimes, he felt like he was getting ripped apart at the seams. This was one of those times. "Damn, man, I'm happy for you," he said as he twirled Gabriella's wedding band around and around her finger. The only symbol that kept him going in moments like these.

"Did you men want dessert?" Gabriella asked suddenly, standing up to go to the kitchen. She pressed her palm to her mouth in thought. "I think we have butterscotch and strawberry. What's your poison, Chad?"

But Chad didn't appear to be thinking about ice-cream. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon the back of Gabriella's palm and the huge slash that ran across it. It was red and swollen and he furrowed his brows in thought.

"Gabriella what happened to your hand?" he asked, looking concerned. "That looks like a mighty big cut."

"Oh!" Gabriella said, turning her hand over and trying to remain calm. Matter of fact was she had gotten it after scraping her skin over a nail that was jutting out on one of the balconies they had scaled the night before. "This? I just was doing a home improvement project, trying to make my own place-mats? You need to cut the bamboo for them, and while Troy had done so for me the night before, a couple of pieces were too long. So I took upon doing so myself."

Troy smiled at his wife, a surge of pride running through them. He wasn't the only good liar. "Women," he said, shaking his head, "look at the things they get themselves into." He grabbed Gabriella's hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to her wound. She looked into his eyes and saw the words reflected in them.

"_I'm sorry_," they said, "_sorry that you were hurt. It won't happen again_."

And she believed him.

"He's a nice man," Gabriella said, later that night as they stood in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. "A really nice man."

Troy nodded, closing the dishwasher's door and turning it on. The quiet hum filled the air, settling in between their thoughts. "He is. He's a good guy. But you know what they say."

"Keep your friends close," she started.

"And keep your enemies closer," he finished.

She was silent for a moment, biting her lip and twisting her fingers. "It gets harder everytime," she admitted quietly, leaning against the counter. "I mean, I know it's never easy...but everytime, it's another tick in the wall." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "The more we add, the sicker I feel."

Coming to stand in front of her, Troy placed his hands on the counter behind her, trapping her in his embrace. "I know, Brie," he whispered as she lifted her head to look him in the eye. "I know."

"God, I just wish it didn't have to be like this," she said, her voice shaking. "I just wish we could have continued to live the simple life we had."

"Brie, even when we were living that life," he ran his hands up and down her arms, "even then in California, we knew it wouldn't last." He pressed a delicate, soft kiss to her cheek, just below her eyelid. "We always knew this would be the life we would have."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rested her forehead against his. "I know. But that doesn't mean I don't wish it was different."

Sighing, he nodded. "We're in this together, Brie," he said gently, "that's got to count for something, right?"

"It counts for everything," she said, catching his gaze. His breath caught in his throat and he bowed down and brought his lips to hers in a zealous kiss. She responded back just as eagerly, deepening the kiss and sliding her tongue across his lips, begging for entrance. Opening his mouth, they began an intimate battle of tongue and teeth, and he slid his hands down to the back of her thighs, lifting her legs to wrap around her waist.

Holding her up, he staggered into the bedroom and he walked them towards the bed, tossing Gabriella onto it's surface and crawling up it until he loomed over her. He gazed down at her face, her cheeks flushed and her lips red and swollen. She smiled weakly at him and raised her hand to twine in the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered, meeting her lips again, the kisses becoming frantic, their breathing turning to pants and gasps. Her small hand made it's way up his chest and nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt. He trembled as she trailed her fingernails over the muscles of his stomach and snaked his own hands up the hem of her shirt, feeling her arch beneath his fingers at the touch.

Slipping her shirt over her head, he began to press hot, open mouthed kisses to her neck and he couldn't help but smile as he heard her gasp in surprise as he flicked his tongue over the dip in her clavicle.

"Oh, Troy," she whimpered as he continued his descent down her body, suckling gently on the swell of her breasts. Her fingers gripped his hair tightly. "Troy...Troy, Troy, Troy."

"I'll love you forever, Gabriella," he whispered as he traveled down her stomach, licking and tasting her skin, his lips kissing, caressing and sucking. He swirled his tongue around her navel and felt her buck her hips in response. His hands floated down to the button of her jeans and he popped them open, sliding them down her legs. As he raked his nails down her thighs, he felt her tremble. "No matter what happens," he continued, "no matter what we do, we are in this together and I promise you, I will always be here, loving you with everything that I am. _We_ are more important than any of this."

She twisted and writhed in his grasp as his fingers dipped beneath her the lace of her panties and she shuddered as she gasped in surprise. He kissed her, silencing her as his fingers worked their magic and hoped desperately, with everything that he had, that he'd be able to see that promise through.

Fate, however, was quickly approaching and it firmly believed that promises were meant to be broken.

---

Apologies that this took so long! I wanted to take my time with it, though, and make sure it was exactly how I wanted it.

Special thanks to the lovely Kerry for looking this over!

Part three up...hopefully soon.


	4. Part Three

---

**Stroke**

Part Three

---

**To:** _Sharpay Evans-Baylor, Zeke Baylor, Ryan Evans, Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Troy Bolton_

**Subject:** _We're royally fucked_

Sharpay, what the fuck is wrong with you? Not only did you look Danforth in the fucking eye (you're such a fucking idiot), but in addition, you went ahead and extended an invitation to fucking Jason Cross to meet at the warehouse a day after the raid at Mckessie's. Way to fucking go, you've outdone yourself.

Do you even think? Did you even consider running this by myself or Gabriella before fucking sending us to the electric chair? Now we're all going to be fucking dead and it's you who's going to have to live with that in the afterlife.

Stay the fuck off of my cloud when we get there.

T

**To:** _Troy Bolton, Zeke Baylor, Ryan Evans, Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Sharpay Evans_

**Subject:** _STFU & STFD_

First of all, fuck you, Bolton, you don't have a sprained ankle and a broken wrist. Second of all, if we wait one more day with this thing we're all going to end up dead. We need to take out Cross now and probably even Danforth, so excuse me for going along with the proceedings. Thirdly, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you.

Sharpay Evans-Baylor xx

**To:** _Sharpay Evans, Zeke Baylor, Ryan Evans, Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Troy Bolton_

**Subject:** _BAYLOR KEEP YOUR WOMAN ON A LEESH_

I AM SORRY, BUT DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE MAGNITUDE OF WHAT YOU'VE DONE? CHAD DANFORTH HAS IDENTIFIED YOU. HE FUCKING KNOWS YOU ARE BEHIND THIS. YOU ARE AS GOOD AS DEAD, YOU RETARD.

T

**To:** _Troy Bolton, Sharpay Evans-Baylor, Ryan Evans, Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Zeke Baylor_

**Subject:**_Fuck off_

Watch what you fucking say about my wife, Bolton.

Z.B.

**To: **_Zeke Baylor, Sharpay Evans-Baylor, Ryan Evans, Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Troy Bolton_

**Subject:** _?_

YOU DO REALIZE SHE'S GOTTEN US ALL KILLED, RIGHT? I DON'T THINK WHAT I SAY TO HER RIGHT NOW REALLY WEIGHS A LOT ON HER SELF-ESTEEM, SHE CAN FUCKING DEAL.

T

**To:** _Zeke Baylor, Sharpay Evans-Baylor, Ryan Evans, Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Troy Bolton_

**Subject:** _You're ALL idiots_

This is Gabriella, writing through Troy's e-mail. You're all ridiculous, have you ever heard of the term 'think before you ink'? Now you've given all of this information to the interweb, there to stay forever. Good job, great going.

I've punished my husband I see fit. The rest of you can meet us at El Stravos at four PM. Be there or it's your head.

G xo

**To:** _Kelsi Nielson_

**From:** _Ryan Evans_

**Subject:** _Late_

Looks like we were late to the e-mail argument party, huh? You as disappointed you missed out as I am?

Love, Ryan

**To: **_Ryan Evans_

**From:** _Kelsi Nielson_

**Subject**:_..._

Fuck off, Ryan.

K

---

The day started off as normal as any for Troy and Gabriella. They awoke a little after six in each other's arms and spent the next ten minutes arguing over who should go make coffee. Eventually, Gabriella won over Troy and she scampered out to the shower while he dragged his feet to the kitchen. Moments later, however, he snuck in the shower after her and they stayed in until the water ran cold and their skin was as wrinkled as prunes.

They made a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast and sipped their coffee while they read the newspaper together. Troy took sports and Gabriella took international news. They bundled up in their coats, kissed three times on their way out of the door and then made their way to El Stavros.

But today they knew was going to be anything but ordinary. There was a chance that one or both of them wouldn't be alive the next morning, and with this knowledge, they moved slowly, feeling more heavy. They wrapped their arms around each others waist as they walked, clutching and holding on for dear life. They couldn't think about it, the notion of living without the other was far, far too scary.

When they finally arrived, Troy found himself torn between wanting to smack Sharpay and comfort her. She was sitting on a barstool, Zeke beside her holding her hand. She was dressed in a plum coloured velour tracksuit, her hair in a messy ponytail and her wrist in a cast. She glanced up at him and he frowned, clutching his arm tighter around Gabriella's waist as they stepped in the door when he noticed her tired eyes and the violent red scratch along the side of her face. Instead of feeling desperately angry as he had when he sent the e-mail in the earlier hours of the day, he felt bad.

She was stuck with this mess just much as he was. Sure, she was crazy as hell, but she was still unhappy. He could see it in her eyes. So instead of yelling, he sighed.

"You can't go into a raid like that, Sharpay," he said, settling in the barstool beside her and pulling Gabriella to rest in between his legs. She leaned against his chest and nodded along with him.

"You're injured," she agreed, "it wouldn't be a good idea."

Sharpay shook her head and glowered at them. "There is no fucking way I am not taking part, Boltons," she said tiredly, "I will be there and I will fire a gun and I will take part. I got us into this mess and I will help to get us out."

Ryan emerged from behind the bar where he stood with Kelsi, who looked small and meek. "They might be right, sis," he admitted, smiling at his sister sadly. "I know you want to help, but—"

"No!" Sharpay said, her voice cracking slightly, "my ankle is already better, I can walk in heels and everything! It's just my wrist and I can cover this damn cut up with make up! I will not let you guys down again, I just..."

She began to sob then, letting her head fall to the surface of the bar. They were silent, not even Zeke moving forward to comfort her. How could they? She had gotten them into the situation after all.

"We're going to die," Kelsi whispered and the air in the room grew even thicker. "We're all going to die tonight."

"Or get thrown in jail," Ryan supplied.

"I...I...I am s-o, so sor-rry you guys," Sharpay said through her tears, "I'm...I can't...can't believe what I did."

"It's okay, Sharpay," Gabriella said, though she lacked conviction in her words. She placed a comforting hand on Sharpay's arm. "It'll be okay."

"No it won't be!" Sharpay all but screamed. "I've fucked everything up! I was so rash, so _stupid_! I wasn't even thinking, I looked fucking Danforth in the eye. I went ahead and called Cross. I don't even know w-why..."she pressed the heals of her palms to her eyes. "Now we're fucked."

"You shouldn't have called him," Troy admitted and Sharpay nodded.

"I wish there was...was some w-way to take it back," she cried, "I was run-running on adrenaline. I t-thought that if we acted...acted quickly, then it would just go away. Now I've k-killed us all."

"Maybe not," Gabriella said suddenly, slipping out of Troy's grasp. "Maybe we're making this more complicated than it needs to be. Maybe we're making this too complicated. Maybe there's an easier way to work around this."

Zeke's laughter filled the room, loud, piercing and nearly hysterical. "You're kidding, right, Bolton?" he asked and Sharpay flinched, aware the even her husband knew how dire their situation was. "You know there's no way in hell that we can possibly fix this."

"No, there is," Gabriella began, "it's simple. We're forgetting that Troy is a detective, he works under Danforth. He can help us spin this. It'll be easier than we think."

"Gabriella," Troy began, worried that she was over simplifying it, but she merely pressed a finger to his lips.

"No, hon, I got this, trust me," she swallowed and took a deep breath. "Firstly, we change the location on Cross at the very last minute. Very, _very_ last."

The group inched forward, leaning in to take in Gabriella's plan and Troy's heart swelled with pride as he watched his wife conduct the meeting, stringing everything together single handedly.

When she was finished, the group settled back, grinning slightly. Sharpay poked Gabriella in the arm.

"I am assuming," she said simply, the excitement back in her voice, "that we're going to be dressing for the occasion?"

Gabriella laughed. "With bells on." Feeling slightly lighter, Troy leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek as she giggled. It felt like everything might be alright. She always made it feel like this.

God, he loved her.

---

It was going to be a long day. After a series of e-mails sent back and forth between he and his 'colleagues', as well as a smack upside the head from his wife and the meeting, Troy was exhausted. More than that, however, he knew that his fatigue wasn't just from the usual hustle and bustle of everyday life.

It was because tonight was the night that it all could potentially end, in more ways than one.

"Here's the file you asked for," Troy said, stepping into Chad's office and throwing the folder on his desk. Inside had been any information on Sharpay that they could legally dig up. Police record (she was arrested when she was seventeen for defacing school property on prom night), dental and medical records, her marriage certificate, the handful of lawsuits she had fought over speeding tickets. Troy felt positively sick handing over the information to Chad, but at this point, as long as he was one step ahead of him at all times, he could manage to have some sort of handle on things. Manage to continue to have some sort of control.

Chad turned around in his chair and smiled. "Ah, thanks." He flipped through the folder anxiously before glancing back up at Troy. "Can you believe it's all going to end tonight? That we're finally going to crack down on them?"

Troy shook his head. "No," he answered honestly. "It's kind of...scary."

Chad cocked his head to the side. 'What do you mean?"

Feeling the sweat gather on his brow, Troy tried to appear calm and not like the scared child he was turning out to be. "I just mean that...that you know, we've spent years thinking about this moment and now it's actually happening. What if something goes wrong? What if one of us...you know, doesn't come through?"

"Ah, Bolton," Chad said with a wave of his hand, "trust me, we're all going to be fine. We'll come through and we'll be heroes and maybe The City can finally have some peace, you know? Besides, the plan's practically fool-proof."

Sighing, Troy wrung his hands together. "And what's the plan again?"

"Simple, Cross is meeting Evans at the warehouse tonight at eight. You and I are on standby, we enter when Jason gives us the signal—"

"What is the signal?" Troy asked carefully.

"He calls our phone, lets it ring twice and then hangs up," Chad explained. "Anyways, once he does that, we get in, ambush them, talk our talk and then make an arrest. If need be, we have a team behind us that will enter at the sound of a gun shot."

Troy frowned. "You won't enter until you get a signal? Only if there's a gun shot, one that could potentially take Cross's life?" Chad was making this far too easy for him.

Chad rolled his eyes. "Please stop being melodramatic. They're meeting at a fucking restaurant downtown, she's not going to have a gun on her."

"But what if she does?" Troy prodded. "What if Evans is armed? She could easy kill Cross before you guys get in."

Chad bit his lip. "We've considered this, but looking through these records, neither of the Evans nor Baylor have licensed firearms. It's highly unlikely, especially since they have no idea we're on to them."

"Um," Troy scoffed, unable to help himself as he rolled his eyes, "she was armed at the raid, was she not? And you say the woman looked you directly in the eye at a raid and you're trying to tell me you honestly believe that she's not going to be armed?"

Narrowing his eyes, Chad nodded. "Yes, I'm saying it's something we'll be prepared for, but it's not something that we're necessarily putting high on our list of concerns. In a public place, there is no way that Evans would risk her reputation."

"Don't you think that's a bit rash?" Troy asked and inwardly he asked himself what the hell he was doing. Why was he aiding Chad in being more prepared for an showdown between the two of them? Wasn't that just absolutely ludicrous?

"No, Bolton, I've got it under control," Chad hissed, "stay the fuck out of it, you still work beneath me."

"But what about back up? Why won't they be with you?"

Chad scoffed. "The commissioner doesn't know about this, I told you, he thinks it's rash and says we have no solid evidence or a lead," he rolled his eyes, "like seeing her myself counts for nothing. He doesn't want to send in a squad unless it's absolutely necessary."

"This is a bad idea, Chad," Troy stressed, "you're not going about this right, you're risking an innocent man's life—one who is completely under qualified and shouldn't even participate in this at all."

"Subject dropped now, Bolton," Chad said dismissively and Troy glared in response.

He was silent for a moment as he debated whether it was worth countering him or not. He huffed, agitated, before changing the subject. "How's Mckessie doing?" he asked. "I heard she was checked into the hospital."

"Yeah," Chad nodded, "she had a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. She's okay, though, should be out in a few days, or so her sister tells me."

"You've gone to see her, haven't you?" Troy asked, raising his eyebrows. Chad shook his head. "Why not?"

"It's inappropriate, Bolton," Chad said and Troy frowned.

"How?"

Chad shot him a pointed look. "Well first of all, if anyone out there even gets the slightest idea that she and I have a relationship, she could be dead—"

"She was nearly beaten to death," Troy said exasperated, "she's involved in The City's biggest crime ring. She's obviously going to be on the hit list of several persons."

"That's not the point!" Chad snapped, "I don't want to add her to one more list, you got that?"

"I get that," Troy said with a sigh. "I get it. I'm just saying, you should at least go see her."

"I'll see her when she gets out," Chad said softly. He glanced up at Troy. "How's Gabriella's hand doing?"

Troy blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Gabriella's hand," he replied slowly, "it looked like it was pretty gashed up last time I saw it." He spun around in his chair, facing the window. In the split second he did so, Troy reached forward and grabbed the cell phone that was sitting on Chad's desk and slipped it into his pocket. "Funny, considering she said she what, cut it with a knife trimming bamboo?"

"That's right," Troy said, folding his arms over his chest defensively, trying to behave as if he had not just stolen his boss's cell phone. "Why?" What did Chad know? What was he getting at?

Chad shrugged, turning back around. "It looked like an awful jagged cut for something that a knife did."

Troy glared. "Her hand slipped, it wasn't a clean slice," he spit. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"I'm just saying—"

"You're just saying _what_?" Troy asked, gritting his teeth.

"Let's start this over, Bolton," Chad said, taking a deep breath. "Lets pretend for a minute that Gabriella didn't get that cut from the bamboo. Let's suggest that someone had hurt her. How would you feel? These bastards hurt Taylor, you have no idea what I'm going through. Imagine someone hurt Gabriella."

Troy swallowed, remembering that thin white line on Gabriella's thigh. What the fuck did Chad know? He could act all high and mighty, as if Troy couldn't possibly fathom real pain. "I understand that you're hurting, Danforth," Troy spit, "but there is no reason to discuss something like this. If you're trying to make it personal for me, I—"

"But it should be personal, Bolton," Chad snapped. "We are one step away from cleaning up this city, one where you're not going to have to worry if someone will hurt your wife. It's all going to happen, it should be personal, it—"

"No, Danforth, you're just running your mouth." Troy stood up abruptly and Chad looked startled. "Why don't you try acting professional for more than five minutes of your life? You think you can just get rid of all the shit The City's been through and voila, you can have a happy little life? No, it doesn't work that way."

"The crooks, the thieves, the murderers; they will always be here, Chad," Troy said thickly, "there will always be hate and pain and death here, no matter whether we enlist white knights like you to try and get rid of them. So why don't you do us all a favor and just learn to live a little bit instead of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"

Chad bristled, standing up as well. "One more word and you're off the raid tonight, Troy," he said sternly, "you don't know shit about my life. Not all of us can have this picture perfect romance with their high school sweetheart. Not all of us can have a lovely little home with a lovely little wife who makes bamboo place-mats in her spare time. Not all of us get that luxury of being loved."

"You're right, Danforth," Troy spit, "but you haven't even tried. You just decided you couldn't have that and you gave up, oh poor me, my life is too dangerous. Guess what, Chad? Life is fucking dangerous everyday, it's always a gamble. And the worst part of it? In a flash, it's over. So why don't you make the most of it?"

I'm going to kill Chad tonight, he thought, why am I saying this? Deep down, Troy knew it was because he had one last chance to maybe get Chad out of this. To save him from himself. Despite the fact that they were on opposite sides, Troy did like Chad. He wasn't going to enjoy what he was going to do tonight, but he could handle it and he would wear his mask and he would wear it well. If only Chad wouldn't make him.

Chad didn't say anything for a moment before lowering himself back down to his desk and picking up Sharpay's file. "Get out before I say something I regret," he said, "no matter how sick you're making me right now, I need you to be there tonight. There's going to be no other men there to back me up immediately except for you. So get the fuck out now."

Troy stared at him, his jaw clenched. "After this, I quit," he said firmly and he watched as Chad blinked in surprise.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I quit," Troy repeated. "I am sick of working under the thumb of someone who has no idea what he's doing. For someone who is naive enough to believe that he can take out a few crooks and everything will be sunshine and rainbows. Besides, what should it matter to you?" he folded his arms. "You said you were retiring after this anyways."

"Well," Chad paused, "I—"

"You will _never_ retire, Chad," Troy said slowly, "you will _never_ step down. You are married to the force, so don't give me all that bull that you will because you won't."

"You don't know what it's like," Chad said quietly, and Troy could hear the vulnerability in his voice. "To be stuck with someone that you just can't get out of, that's a part of you even when you don't want it to be. You _don't_."

Troy was silent for a moment, weighing his options. A part of him wanted to break down, to tell Chad exactly how much he knew, but another part of him wanted to play innocent. Instead, he looked in him straight in the eye and simply said, "You would be surprised," before walking out of the office and slamming the door behind him.

He exhaled sharply upon stepping out. Time to put his plan into action. Pulling the cell phone from his pocket, he checked the address book and quickly dialed a number. He paused, waiting for it to ring, but found it went straight to voicemail. Perfect.

"Cross, it's Detective Bolton," he said cooly, "for tonight, it's crucial that you use just this cell number and mine as your source of communication. We need to keep this on the down low from the majority of the force, so it'd be best if you just sent a text to keep us in the loop. Don't call back."

It was a simple lie, stupid even, but Jason was so thick and up himself, Troy doubted he could even notice. Then he quickly made his way over to the commissioner's office, had a quick work, and departed for the day.

Walking out the building to his car, he thought about their days in California and how simple they had been. How happy they were.

And how that all came crashing down.

_Troy leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, waiting for his wife to come out. He tapped his foot impatiently, his nerves getting the best of him. How long did these things take? Shouldn't they be automatic? Something that just was a simple yes or no, you are or you aren't? No instead they had to make it some complicated contraption in which peeing on a stick was involved. In the words of Gabriella, how vile._

_Still, he didn't even care about the act itself. he just wanted her to hurry up with the results. He and Gabriella had been married a little over a year and had been trying for a baby for a little over half of that time. They were young, both understood this, but they wanted to have kids. They wanted someone to pamper, someone to take care of and someone to watch grow. They wanted someone to shower with love and affection, a little Troy and Gabi._

_"I hope we have a boy," Gabriella whispered one night as they lay naked under the sheets their sweaty bodies satisfied and exhausted. "So then he can have your nose and your eyes and your jawline. But he'll have my brains and my hair and he will be brilliant."_

_Troy laughed fondly running his fingers up and down her arm gently. "He'll be quite the heartbreaker, that's for sure. I mean, my looks and your brains? What an unbeatable combination."_

_Giggling to herself, Gabriella cuddled further into his embrace. "A little girl would be nice, too," she admitted, "someone soft and sweet. She'll be your little girl."_

_"But she'll be a miniature you," Troy pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, "which really, could be a bad thing because all of the boys will be after her, and I don't think I'll be able to handle that."_

_Gabriella leaned over and kissed him sweetly. "I can't wait. Can you?" she asked excitedly, "cause I really, really can't wait."_

_Troy shook his head. "No, neither can I," he pecked her lips. "It's going to be wonderful."_

_So he most certainly could not wait at that moment, the one where he was waiting to see if they were finally going to get the child of their dreams that they had been thinking about for weeks upon weeks. Gabriella hadn't gotten her period yet, in fact, she was two weeks late. And so she had run to the drug store to buy a home pregnancy test. Troy waited anxiously, praying to every deity ever that she would come out of the bathroom with a smile on her face. _

_When she emerged seconds later, however, the look on her face was anything but happy. "Looks like it was a false alarm," she said sadly, "I got a surprise in the bathroom and it was of the monthly kind that I shouldn't be getting if I want to house a baby."_

_Troy dropped a kiss to her forehead, trying not to hide his disappointment. "Don't worry babe," he said softly, pulling her against him as her eyes filled with tears. She had been so excited. "There's always next time."_

_There was a next time. And a next time. And a next time. But the time they reached their two year anniversary, dozens upon dozens of negative pregnancy tests had been produced and both were becoming extraordinary discouraged._

_Couples actively trying to conceive usually do so within the first twelve months. Gabriella and Troy had been trying for over sixteen. So they did the only thing they could think to do._

_They booked an appointment with the doctor._

_Troy still remembered the look on Gabriella's face, the broken one that had spread across her features as their doctor explained that she was infertile, unable to conceive. The worst part of it all, was when she couldn't explain why. There were thousands upon thousands of reasons as to why women were unable to bear children, but no matter which tests they ran, no matter which procedures Gabriella underwent, no one could determine her reason. Everything worked fine in the matter of speaking medically, but something still wasn't working. Troy was perfect, nothing out of place or joint, but Gabriella was still the faulty one. _

_There were treatments Gabriella could undergo, things that could maybe get things working. Gabriella considered it greatly for a time. Troy, however, wouldn't hear of it. Why would they fuck with nature, he would ask, why would they attempt to mess with something that already wasn't happening? He didn't want to lose Gabriella somehow, anyhow, and the less she risked herself, the less chance he had of that ever occurring. So they did not go through the treatments and they stopped trying. They slapped on an unexplained infertility label and called it a day._

_Suddenly, everything changed._

_Things got really dark. Nights that were spent in each others arms kissing, laughing and talking about their future children and their upcoming life together were spent with their backs to each other, staring out at the walls. Dinner was eaten in silence and during evenings, they sat on opposite sides of the couch and watched television shows about people just slightly more miserable than they were._

_Until one afternoon (it was a sunny one), the phone rang. Maria Montez was frantic: Josue had had a stroke, a rather bad one, and was on his deathbed. Troy and Gabriella were to fly from California back to The City as soon as possible. _

_And so they did. They flew back to The City in silence and arrived in silence, with somber expressions and at least a foot between them. Their first stop was at the hospital where they visited a grey faced, exhausted Josue who held his daughter's hand and loudly exclaimed how wonderfully Troy was taking care of his daughter and wouldn't it be nice if he could take care of some other things for Josue, too? He shot Troy pointed looks, all of which he ignored._

_When they arrived at their hotel room, tired and spent, Gabriella slipped off her coat, pressed her fingers to her lips and turned to Troy. "You know what he's going to ask you, don't you?"_

_He didn't need her to elaborate and he didn't need her to specify. Theirs was a connection cemented by years of reading each others minds, hours of watching the other. He knew exactly what she meant and exactly how she felt about it._

_"Yes," Troy said simply, "I know what he's going to ask of me."_

_Biting her lip, his wife looked at him, tears in her eyes. "And what are you going to say?"_

_He swallowed thickly. What was he going to say? What was going to be his answer when Josue asked him to carry on the hideous acts he had started with his late father? Had he asked Troy even a month ago, Troy would have flat out said no. He had too much to live for, too much to do, too much he loved. Now?_

_Gabriella hadn't touched him in days, she hadn't looked him in the eye in even longer. She hadn't told him she loved him nor had she smiled since the doctor had delivered the news that sent everything they had planned crashing down. Everyday, every second, he could feel the distance between them grow larger. He could feel the wedge prying itself between the two of them, ripping them apart. Did she still love him? Would she still love him as time went on? And if she didn't (and it was seeming like she didn't more and more each day) what did he have to live for? What did he have to do?_

_The memory of his father splayed out on the floor of El Stravos ran through his mind. The one of him bloody and unconscious, wheezing as he gasped for his last breaths. His father would have died happier knowing that his son wasn't going to let this happen in the future, wasn't going to let a man fall to his death. Knowing that what he had started was in good hands._

_Suddenly, Troy felt very alone. His mother hadn't been in much contact since his father's death and now the chances of Gabriella leaving him were so very high. What did he have left of a family? His father's legacy, Josue's wishes. Looking Gabriella straight in the eye, he swallowed before giving her his answer._

_"I'm going to say yes."_

_The air between them grew so silent that it hurt and he tried not to shiver outwardly, but inside, his heart had turned to ice. She blinked twice before nodding and walking over to their bed. Slipping her shirt off, she slid into bed and flicked off the light, saying nothing._

_Two days later, Josue asked and Troy agreed. The next day he died._

_After the funeral four days later, Gabriella had stormed away from Troy at the cemetery, heading back to the hotel alone. Thinking that she simply needed time alone and that it was just one more nail in the coffin that would bury their marriage, he didn't follow her and instead went to El Stravos (which Kelsi had very recently taken over) and drank himself into a stupor. His life was ending; he would never have children, his wife was going to leave him and he was now going to live the life of crime he had been running away from for the last ten years. _

_When he pushed open the door to their room, staggering slightly, he paused in the doorway. The softest of sobs came from the bed and he slipped off his shoes and walked further in the room, finding Gabriella curled into herself on the bed, her body trembling as she quietly cried. At that moment, Troy's heart broken._

"_Gabi," he whispered, his voice sounding slurred even to his own ears. "Don't cry."_

_She shifted on the bed slightly, looking over her shoulder. "Go away."_

_Troy's shoulders slumped in defeat. She didn't want him. "If that's what you really want," he choked out, "I will."_

_She let out a gasp and turned fully in the bed so that she was facing him. Her eyes were tired and bloodshot, her face pale with trails of tears staining her cheeks. "Don't!" she pleaded, "please don't."_

"_Gabriella," Troy said breathlessly, sitting down on the bed and taking her hand in his. "I'm not leaving. Why would I leave?"_

"_Because," she whimpered, "you don't want me anymore."_

_It was Troy's turn to gasp. He didn't what? "What," he paused, trying to figure out what her scrambled brains were trying to say, "what do you mean?"_

"_You're going to leave me," she said sadly, "you don't want me anymore. You don't love me. I can't give you children, what use am I? Now you're going to move back to The City and you're going to leave me and I will go back to California alone."_

"_Gabriella," Troy said, completely floored. He pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him, "I would never leave you because of that. I will never leave you."_

"_But you don't—"_

"_I love you, Gabriella," he said, his voice cracking. His head felt so heavy, so fuzzy. Why had she thought these things? What had he done to make her think the things that she did? "I never will leave you. I...I thought you wanted to leave me."_

_She looked up then, surprised. "What?" she whispered, "why would I leave you? You're my entire world, Troy. I love you."_

_The wall that had been between them for the past few weeks shattered then and he felt his heart soar at the confirmation that she really did love him. That she wasn't going to leave. He bowed his head and kissed her hair, breathing in her scent and holding her for all that she was worth. "I'm sorry if I ever did anything that made you feel that way," he let out a shaky breath, "if I ever made you think that I was going to leave."_

_Burying her face in his neck, Gabriella pressed a gentle kiss to his skin. "I'm sorry, too," she said, "I promise we can get through this, if you want to."_

_He pulled back slightly, cupping her face with his hands and looking into her eyes. "I do want to more than anything," he said, but the realization upon what he had agreed to finally hit him. "Things are different now, though."_

_Gabriella nodded slowly. "I know. Everything's going to change."_

"_I didn't want this for us," Troy felt his hands begin to shake, "I didn't want this world for us. I'm sorry I agreed, I'm sorry I doomed us to this life. I felt like I had nothing left. I felt like...like I was miserable, so what did it matter if I spent my life living so that others were, too?"_

"_I know," she said, shaking her head, "but you would have agreed even if things were going our way."_

"_Yes," he admitted, "your father asked. Family is...family is everything to us. It's the reason why we went back to El Stavros all those years ago."_

_Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, the first real sign of intimacy shown on her part in ages, she nodded. "Your father would have been proud of you, Troy."_

_He bit his lip, knowing that she was right. But it most certainly wasn't something that he himself was happy about. He had grown up always trying to please his father. Now he had in the ultimate way, but he had given himself up at the same time._

"_I'm so sorry," he said, crumbling in her arms. "I'm so sorry that I've now forced us into the life that we've been trying to avoid for years. I am so, so sorry."_

"_I am too," Gabriella admitted, "but if I had been in your position, I would have done the same thing. We'll get through this together, Troy. You and me. We'll do it together."_

_Lacing their fingers together, they lay together on the bed and talked well into the morning about everything. About the pain that they had both been going through the last few weeks, about her father's death, about the children they would never have. They were on the path to healing, but at the same time, they were heading towards destruction._

So slowly, but intensely, they integrated themselves into The City, befriending the Evans twins and Kelsi Nielson. Within a year, they were fully situated and their power only continued to grow as time went on.

Their web grew more tangled and sometimes, when they were at raids or at meetings at El Stravos, Troy would look down at his hand, entangled with Gabriella and pause. He would glance at their glasses of cream soda and stop breathing. He would wonder if they were the same people.

Walking through the parking lot to his car that afternoon, he was wondering the same thing. Were they, these malicious bad people who were planning murder, the same people that they had been? The ones who lay in bed till the early afternoon and giggling, talking and being intimate?

The simple answer was no. He hated that. He hated that Josue had to die and that they felt obligated enough, that Gabriella loved her father despite everything he had done that she would give up everything for him. He hated that he rarely ever saw her real smile.

Sliding across the seat of his car, Troy paused as he fit the key in the ignition. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against the leather seat and felt his shoulders slump. It was too much, it was all too, too much.

In just a few short hours, he and his wife and they're colleagues would be killing someone. Someones. People. They couldn't buy their silence this time and it was too risky to allow them to live. But the knowledge that they were taking someone's life, forcing them to take their last breath to earlier...it made Troy sick.

It was not the first time he had killed and he doubted it would be the last, but either way, it was grew more difficult each and every time. Another weight was added to the barbel, another notch on the wall. Resting his forehead against the steering wheel, he closed his eyes and began to cry.

Shoulders trembling, he sobbed as he thought of his wife and everything they had become accustomed to. Everything they had chosen because life wasn't going their way. How wrong they were. How stupid.

Tears falling from his cheeks onto his lap, he cried as the sky grew dark and his cell phone rang, Gabriella on the other line, somehow sensing that her husband could use someone to lean on.

---

Jason Cross was a smart man. Not only had he managed to secure a meeting with the Evans twins, but he had managed to do so without even really lifting a finger. To say that he was a genius, in Jason's eyes, was a gross understatement. He was brilliant, he was magnificent! He was the kind of person that people erected statues for, shrines! Who people praised and loved, who was on the cover of TIME magazine and who was never in US Weekly except for interviews on his own personal brilliance and accomplishment.

He had managed to get a lead—a strong one at that—on the disgusting crime ring that was plaguing The City. He had managed to single-handedly con the Evans, to trap them so simply that even he was surprised.

If Jason were as smart as he claimed to be (or rather, thought himself to be), he long ago would have noticed that something was drastically off. That it was impossible to get through to Sharpay Evans-Baylor's secretary or assistants. That you usually had a six month wait to pitch a business endeavor to her assistant's assistant. No where on any record of any sort anywhere was there an indication that Mrs. Evans-Baylor would not only be willing to meet a brand new client out of the blue, but that she would pursue them herself. That it was extremely odd that ten minutes before they were set to meet, she changed the location to a different restaurant across town.

But Jason, being Jason, didn't look at it like that. Instead he saw it as another gold star on his report card. He was so great, so powerful and rich, that the Evans were practically begging to go into business with him. It was their only hope, he had decided. The only thing that would take keep them afloat when he took over the entirety of The City with his money. Sure, his publishing company was wildly successful, but he had other plans, too. He would be a people person, no more of this billionaire playboy nonsense. No, he could run for office! Help better The City with his finances!

His name would be on the front page of every magazine after this, no doubt. He would be acclaimed for aiding the police force in the way that he had. Maybe he'd even get a medal! He could see it now, 'JASON CROSS RESCUES CITY FROM INEVITABLE DOOM.'

God, it sounded good.

The drive to the restaurant was taking far, far too long for Jason's liking. In fact, it was practically mind-boggling to him that anything in The City could take so long. Most eateries and businesses (the successful and decent ones, anyway) were approximately twenty-minutes away from Jason's apartment. This however, this was taking much longer. When Sharpay had suggested the restaurant, one he had claimed was his favourite, he had been kind of skeptical. Not only did it not appear to have any stars beside it's name, but it also was in a part of The City he had never bothered venturing to before.

Despite this, however, he had agreed, though he would have much rather met at his favourite posh bar downtown. But if he was going to be The City's hero, it's caped crusader, then it was probably best that he learned more about every aspect of it. Every nook and cranny.

It was going to be his soon, after all.

"Yo, James," Jason called over the intercom in his limousine (he traveled everywhere in style) to his driver, "how much longer are we going to be?"

A muffled response came back to him. "According to the GPS, sir, about three more minutes."

Jason nodded to himself and looked out at the scenery they were passing by. Not only was this a part of The City he had never been in, but it was also part that was...kind of scary. The bright lights and white picket fences, large mansions and green lawns that he had become accustom to were no where to be seen. Everything was grey on a white, gloomy sky. There were no flowers and the playground at the park had asphalt instead of sand. Jason grimaced.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" he asked, completely baffled that someone as glamorous and pretentious as Sharpay Evans-Baylor was really interested in meeting at a hole in the wall restaurant where surely no one would be there to take her picture.

"Yes, sir," came the reply, "I am following the directions Mrs. Evans-Baylor's assistant faxed to me."

With a shrug, Jason slumped back in his seat. Maybe he was merely analyzing it too much. Sharpay probably didn't want her picture plastered all over Page Seven the next morning when she was doing a business deal. Things like that were private, personal. Especially if the deal were to fall through...

Jason smirked. Oh, how the deal was going to fall through. The deal was going to fall apart. Sharpay was going to go down and it was all thanks to Jason and his quick thinking.

(And his money, but he ignored that part and acquitted it all to his natural brains.)

Finally, the car came to a stop and the driver stepped out to open Jason's door. When he emerged, he frowned in distaste.

"Are you sure this is where she said to meet?" Jason asked again, his confusion getting the better of him. Something was definitely, most certainly off. In front of him was a warehouse, one that seemed abandoned, and behind that was a large expanse of blue water and a loading dock. This was certainly no restaurant.

His driver, old with grey hair and in a navy blue uniform nodded. "Yes, sir, this is the place we were told to come. Maybe Mrs. Evans-Baylor has this location selected as headquarters?"

Jason considered this for a moment. It was a probable situation and one he would definitely take into account. "Good point, James," he said before making his way over to the building, "I'll call you when I'm finished up! It could be a while—with Danforth, Bolton and their back up on the way and all." He pulled out his cell phone and sent a quick text to Chad informing him of the change of location before slipping it back in his pocket.

James nodded. "Have a good day sir, and good luck!"

Smiling to himself, Jason opened one of the large, steel doors and stepped in. The warehouse was empty and dimly lit. He furrowed his brow and looked around for the sign of another occupant.

"Hello?" he called out, "anyone there?"

His voice reverberated off the walls and then suddenly, the echoing click of someone's heels bounced through his thoughts. He looked to his left, and Sharpay Evans-Baylor, dressed in a blush pink, chiffon-tiered cocktail dress and black leather pumps stepped forward. On her shoulders was a charcoal, studded leather jacket and on her arm, dressed in an expensive tailored suit was her husband, Zeke Baylor.

"Enchante, Mr. Cross," Sharpay said cheerfully, the nude-pink gloss on her lips sparking in the light, "so glad you could make it."

"Likewise," Jason said, extending his hand. "I'm looking forward to doing business with you."

When neither took his hand and Sharpay merely laughed in his face, Jason stepped back a step. "Oh, Mr. Cross," the blonde said with a smile, "you really shouldn't be."

Jason froze. "And why is that?"

"Well," another voice said behind him, and Jason nearly jumped when he saw her brother, Ryan Evans, and his 'partner', Kelsi Nielson, standing beside him. "It's just not going to end well for you, that's all."

Ryan adjusted the collar of his black button down and then the brim of his black, feathered fordora. Beside him, Kelsi fidgeted anxiously in her white lace dress and black pumps. Jason frowned yet again. Why were they all so dressed up?

Something was most certainly off. What were they all doing here? He was supposed to meet with Sharpay. "I...I'm confused," Jason admitted, feeling his heart start to race in his chest. "What exactly is going on here."

"You," a low voice said and Jason spun around, his mouth falling open at sight of the figures blocking the doorway. "You are a stupid, stupid man."

In front of Jason, was Troy Bolton, also dressed to the nines in a black suit and white button down. He smirked casually and clasped the hand of his wife, Gabriella, who was wearing a dove grey dress with puffy sleeves and a belt around the waist. Twirling her strand of pearls around her neck, she smiled.

"Surprise, Mr. Cross!" she said brightly, "it's good to see you again! You'll be happy to know, I'm feeling _much_ better this time."

With that, all the blood drained from Jason's face. "B-bolton?" he stuttered, "what is going on?"

"You, Mr. Cross, have been tricked. Ambushed. Backed into a corner," Troy said simply, walking forward and pulling Gabriella along with him.

"No!" Jason yelped, falling to his knees, "you're supposed to be one of the good guys! You're not one of...of them!"

Troy laughed. "Oh, but Jason, I am them. They're me. Don't get too confused."

Jason Cross was in fact, not a smart man at all. If he had been, he would have driven away the moment he had seen the warehouse, especially considering he knew he was about to meet someone who was one of the most notorious criminals in town. He would have at least come with back up, he would have at least come with a gun.

But no, Jason instead came unarmed and unprepared and unfortunately, the only time his face would be on the front page of the newspaper would probably be when they announced his death.

"Welcome to our humble abode, Mr. Cross," Kelsi said with a sweet smile. Instinctively, Jason reached for his phone to call Chad. He fumbled with the keypad, trying desperately to dial Chad's number. When he did, he felt his heart drop as he heard a ringing not so far away. He looked up slowly and saw Troy smirking, holding a red cell phone in his hand.

"Don't bother with Chad," he said simply, "His phone is...out of service."

Feeling his heart thump in panic and his throat dry, Jason tried James next. He needed to get out of here. However, he paused, feeling more anxious, when Ryan laughed.

"You can call your driver all you want, Mr. Cross," Ryan said plainly, "but unfortunately, I don't think he'll do you any good in his...state. Hope you weren't too fond of him."

Jason blanched. There was no way he was getting out of this alive.

---

Something wasn't right, Chad realized. Call it gut instinct, but as he stood in the phone-booth, his cell phone randomly gone missing, thirty minutes after Jason was supposed to arrive at the restaurant, he could feel it. When Troy never arrived and wasn't answering his home or cell phone, he could feel it. Something had gone wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Finally, on the sixth ring, Jason picked up. The background was slightly muffled and Chad felt his heart pick up speed. "Cross!" he hissed, "What the fuck is going on?"

A female laugh filtered over the other line and Chad felt his blood run cold. "Danforth!" she said brightly. "How wonderful to finally hear from you! Are you going to come and join us?"

"What the fuck are you playing at, Evans?" he barked, "where the fuck are you?"

"Oh, did you not get your party invitation?" Sharpay cooed, "what a shame. 1062 Palm, the empty warehouse. There's balloons out front, be sure to arrive in your Sunday best! Toodles!"

With that she hung up and Chad sprung into action, jumping back into his cruiser and calling the commissioner, alerting him that he needed back up and he needed it now. The commissioner responded that they were on their way and Chad broke every traffic law he could manage barreling across town.

Upon arrival, he felt like he was going to throw up. Someone had actually strung six balloons to a post outside the warehouse. What kind of sick people where these? Running to the door, he threw it open and looked around. It was black, so dark it was impossible to see.

Suddenly, the lights popped on and he squinted. There in the middle of the room, tied to a chair and gagged was Jason Cross. Standing beside him, elbow resting on his shoulder was Sharpay Evans and he recognized her husband and brother in attendance, along with a small, petite female on the other side of Jason. All were wearing ridiculous outfits and smiling brightly.

"Welcome, Danforth!" Sharpay said, throwing her arms up. "We are so glad you could come to our party, aren't we guys?"

The group nodded and she continued. "It's called the 'this is the end of your little game, so why don't you give the fuck up before I fuck you up, party!'" she said sweetly, and we, Danforth, are going to get straight into the party games! You are late, after all, you missed the introductions."

"You're going to jail, Evans," Chad yelled, "quit the charade! You do anything stupid and your sentence will just be increased!" Where the fuck was the back up? he thought, they should have been here by now!

"Oh, don't you know, Chad? I live for stupid shit!" She grinned. "So, no, we're going to play the first game. This one is really simple, and unfortunately, I don't think you can participate, but," she cooed, "you can totally watch!"

Abruptly, Sharpay yanked her gun from her belt and pointed it at Jason, whose eyes grew three times in size. Chad froze and stared at her.

"It's call 'Put the Bullet through Cross's head!" she yelled, "and god, it is so much fun! There was a blindfold involved, but I decided to get rid of it because Zeke kept wanting to use it for kinky things, you know how men are."

"You don't want to do that, Evans," he said thickly, fingering his own gun in his back pocket. "That would not be a good idea."

Sharpay threw her head back and cackled bitterly. "Don't want to do it? Don't want to do it? Are you insane, Danforth?" she spit, "of course I want to do it! If I get out of here alive, this fucker over here won't keep quiet! He'll start a game of cat and mouse that I could really rather do without and I would like to hold onto the power that I've maintained! Not only do I have no choice but to kill him, but I want to."

Chad shook his head, his hands trembling slightly. The bitch was fucking crazy. "Again, put the gun down, Evans."

Tears suddenly sprung to Sharpay's eyes and the gun shook in her hands. "Do you know why I'm like this, Danforth?" she said, her voice shaking. Behind her, Zeke hovered carefully, his own gun poised and ready to shoot. He bit his lip apprehensively and Chad watched him out of the corner of his eye. "Do you know why I get this sick, sick thrill out of feeling someone's heartbeat slow?"

Narrowing his eyes, Chad bit back the harsh words that were planning on his tongue. That she was fucking crazy was why. To him there was no other explanation, no other reason. "Who are you, Evans?" he said slowly, "the fucking Joker? You gonna tell me how you got your scars?"

"Fuck you," Sharpay spit and she yanked on her blonde hair with her free hand, her other still pointing her gun towards Jason, who was now sobbing silently. "You must have had a nice childhood, huh, Danforth? One with a white picket fence and a happy mommy and daddy, right?"

Her face was wet with tears and had smudges of dark mascara and bright glitter trailing down her cheeks. She sniffled loudly, her eyes twitching from the throb in her head. When Chad didn't respond, she continued. "Because I sure didn't. Yeah, I had money. Yeah, I had popularity and fancy clothes and a big house. But you know what else I had? I had a father who didn't give a shit about any of us, no matter what mask he put on, no matter what game he played. Do you know what happened the year I turned thirteen, Danforth?"

"I was snooping in my parents bedroom," she went on, "Looking for presents like one would, when I heard my parents shouting in the en suite bathroom. I wouldn't have gone in the room had I known they had been arguing, so doing the only thing I could think of, I hid in the closet. It was one of those with the wooden blinds you know? I could still see them, but they couldn't see me."

"Anyway, I was in there and heard them arguing. My mother was crying like a baby, trembling and shaking, begging my father to give up his side of the power and for us to leave The City," she sniffled again, her nose red, "pleading that we deserved a better life. And my father, my dear daddy, he refused. Said that he had too much at stake here to try to leave it all behind. No matter how much my mother cried, screamed, wailed, he wouldn't do it."

She rubbed at her wet eyes with her free hand and continued. "So, my dad leaves the room and me, I stay in the closet, waiting for my mom to leave so I could get the fuck out of there and run to my room. Only instead, I see my mom reach for the drawer on her bedside table. She pulls out a revolver."

Chad swallowed, knowing what was coming next. "Evans—"

"Fuck off!" she screamed, "let me finish my fucking story you asshole! I am the one throwing this party! So my mother, my gorgeous, smart, wonderful mother, takes the gun and points it to her temple. The next thing I know, I hear a bang and she's slumped over on the ground."

Chad saw Ryan wince out of the corner of his eye, no doubt reliving the painful experience that was his mother's death. He swallowed as Sharpay began to laugh again.

"So I step out of the closet," she said gruffly, "and my bare foot felt something warm and wet on the ground. I look and her blood has streamed in thick line all the way from the other side of the room that quickly. Then I screamed."

Wiping her tears hastily, she gave another chuckle. "But you know what I realized, Danforth? You know what I figured out after I saw my mother take her own _life_?" She took a deep breath. "I realized I could do one of two things. I could succumb to the pressure that my mother did, break like the weakling she turned out to be or I could rise to the occasion. I could step up and take that power and use it to my advantage. I could make something out of myself! I could give the Evans family it's strong female figure."

With shaking fingers, she pressed her finger tighter against the trigger. "And now, Danforth," she spit out his name like venom, "I am going to prove just how strong I am by finishing this bullshit."

Chad's heart beat rapidly in his chest. Where the fuck was Troy? Why wasn't he responding to any of the messages Chad had sent? Something was wrong—had they gotten to him already? Was he dead? The thought made Chad sick to his stomach and he resisted the urge to retch violently.

"So, Danforth," Sharpay said, suddenly cheerful. Zeke stood against her back protectively as he stared Chad down. "Are you going to watch me blow Cross's brains out from that angle? Or would you like to move?"

"Please!" Jason gasped suddenly, "I'll do anything, anything at all! Any money you want, I'll leave here without doing anything to you! You can continue your operation, I don't care!"

This time, it was Kelsi who laughed. "You idiot. You should have known from the moment you stepped into this building that your life was over."

"Please!" Jason said again desperately, his face red hot and doused with tears. "Please, Danforth, I—"

"What a coward you turned out to be," Sharpay murmured, stepping closer to Jason so that she was standing right by his side. She stroked the side of his face gently and he shuddered under the touch of her cold hands. "Oh, poor baby. You wanted so desperately to be the hero, didn't you? To show The City that you're just so super awesome fantastic, huh? Well, tough break. You're nothing but a joke. The going gets tough and you run and hide with your tail between your legs. Fucking pathetic."

"Danforth," Jason gasped out, "please."

"Jason," Chad let out a shaky breath, "just calm down. Once Bolton gets here, everything will be fine."

Jason began to sob harder, his shoulders shaking. "Danforth, you don't understand, Bolton—"

Whack. "Shut the fuck up!" Sharpay screamed as she slammed her gun across the top of his head, drawing blood from a thin line on his pale skin. She pressed her gun into his tender temple. "Shut the fuck up."

Things were going much to far, one move and Jason would be dead. Chad couldn't have that. Her raised his gun and pointed it at Sharpay, looking her straight in the eye. Beside her, he saw Ryan lift gun, place his finger on the trigger and point it in his direction.

"No one," Ryan said firmly, "points a gun at my sister and gets away with it."

The three had suddenly found themselves in a Mexican standoff. Chad felt his heart thump in his chest, his blood rushing through his veins so quickly he felt he might pass out.

"You don't want to do this, Evans," he said, "you shoot Cross and I shoot you. Don't do it."

"Fuck off, Danforth!" Sharpay screamed, "this is over, it's been over for ages! We've been tricking you all along, don't you fucking get it?!"

"Sharpay, maybe you should—" Zeke tried weakly. He was still hovering behind his wife, Kelsi biting her nails profusely on the chair adjacent to him.

"Stay out of this, Zeke," she snapped, gripping her gun tighter.

"But Sharpay—"

"Zeke, shut the fuck up!" she screamed, her voice cracking, "we have to kill him, you know this!"

She smirked coyly at Chad and let out a shaking breath. "You think you're so tough. You think you're so strong and noble, but you fucking aren't. You're going down, Danforth, you think you fucked us over so easily, but you have no idea."

"As soon as you fire that gun, Evans," Chad said in a hushed, low voice, "my men are going to come in here. They're going to ambush you and you and your husband, and your brother and his fag-hag, all of you are going to be thrown in jail. So I get you drawing this out, not wanting to be arrested and all, but at the first gunshot, it's over."

"You can kill Cross," he heard Jason whimper, "but you're just killing yourself in the process."

Sharpay glanced at Ryan, the two smiled and then began to giggle. Their laughter grew in decibel, in pitch until they were both shaking from laughing so hard. Chad looked between them, completely lost and disturbed by their crazed attitudes.

"What?" he asked, almost cautiously. For the millionth time, he noticed that something was off, something wasn't right.

"Oh, Danforth," Sharpay said as if he were the most pathetic creature she had ever laid eyes on. "That's where you're wrong."

With that, she cocked her gun and shot Jason in the head. Reacting rapidly, Chad fired his own gun, hitting her in the shoulder and he felt his shin burst into flames of white hot pain, realizing that Ryan must have shot him. Collapsing, he fell to the ground and felt tears burn his vision.

The pain was excruciating, to the point where he felt like he couldn't breathe. He looked down and saw thick, deep red blood spurt and puddle on the ground beneath him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He heard Sharpay's hysterical cries across from him and he glanced up, watching as she clutched her shoulder, red liquid pouring over her thin fingers and polished nails. Zeke was at her side immediately, ripping off his jacket and tearing strips off of it to wrap around the wound. Ryan stood stunned and let his gun drop to the ground. In the corner, Kelsi had pulled her knees to her chest and was crying uncontrollably, rocking back and forth.

And sitting the chair, slumped over and motionless, thin streams of blooding running down the sides of his face, was Jason Cross.

He was dead. Chad had failed.

"You just put the nails in your coffin, Evans," Chad said gruffly, trying to ignore the pain that was flooding his body, making it hard to think. "You're fucked now."

With that, the door to the warehouse flung open and Chad let out a sigh of relief when he saw who it was. Troy Bolton had just entered, a hard look on his face.

"Bolton!" Chad cried out. "Fuck, thank God you're here, I—"

He paused mid-sentence, however, when he saw a petite, feminine figure appear beside Troy. His mouth went dry and as he slowly began putting two and two together.

What the _fuck_ was _Gabriella Bolton_ doing here?

"B-bolton," he said, narrowing his eyes, "what are you doing? Why is Gabriella here?" Seriously, what the fuck was Troy doing here with his wife? Why was he dressed in a suit, why wasn't he wearing a vest? Why did he look so _calm_?

Holding the door open for his wife as they stepped into the building, Troy looked Chad up and down cooly. "We heard gun-shots. I believe that was the cue."

"C-cue?" Chad blinked at him and hissed as he shifted his leg beneath him. "Where the fuck is the backup, Bolton? What the fuck is going on?"

"Your back up," Troy said simply, "isn't coming. In fact, no one on the entire force was notified about this little ambush today."

"What the fuck are you playing at, Bolton?" he asked slowly, "why the fuck is your wife here? Where is the back up?"

"I informed the commissioner that you were unstable," Troy said cooly, running a hand through his hair. "Told him that you should be off the case, move on to something else now that it was personal. I mean, you did stress that enough."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Chad spit, his heart pounding, "What the fuck are you playing at?"

"We," Troy corrected, sliding his arm around Gabriella's shoulders and pulling her close, "are playing a game. One that you don't know the rules for."

Chad felt the wind knock out of him. Everything was dizzy. Everything was fading. But everything was clear now. Everything made sense. "You're behind this," he said, "you're the ones that were doing this all along, not Evans."

Gabriella smiled sweetly, "Oh, trust me, Sharpay has plenty to do with this," she glowered at him, "how dare you fucking shoot a woman, too. Have you no integrity?"

"Have you?!" Chad yelled, stumbling to his feet. "You're fucking ruining people's lives, Gabriella! I thought you were good, I thought you were strong! You're a fucking whore!"

"Don't you dare say anything like that about her!" Troy yelled, running forward and yanking Chad closer to him by the collar. "You don't fucking know anything!"

"Troy!" Gabriella barked, and she marched over to him, "put him down this instance!" When he did, she stepped in front of him. "Let me deal with it."

Swinging her arm back, she collided her fist with his jaw, a defending crack piercing through the room. Chad staggered back and Gabriella shook her hand out.

"Looks like I'm good for more than just grilled chicken," she spat, stepping back and running over to Sharpay, who was still bleeding, her face growing more pale.

"You're all fucking crazy," Chad said, slumping to the ground as he held his face. Every last one of you."

"No, we're honestly not," Troy said diplomatically, shoving his hands in his pocket. "We just know how to play the game. You obviously, do not."

"Fuck you," Chad climbed back to his feet, drawing his gun. "Fuck you and all of your little friends."

Calmly and almost annoyed, as if he thought this was a complete waste of time, Troy pulled out his own, pointing it at Chad. "No really, you don't. Do you have any idea how easy it was for me to convince the commissioner not to send in back up tonight? To tell him that you were the one off your rocker? For him to pretend to send in back up? God, you're his fucking chief and he doesn't even trust you. Said you've been acting far to rash. I told him he'd tell you he'd send back up and that really, I'd just take care of it. He called me right after he got off the phone with you. It was so fucking simple, I don't even know why I was afraid."

As Chad placed his finger on the trigger of his gun, he inched forward. Troy continued. "And god, it was so simple! You made this so easy! You weren't even going to have them with you, just on standby! That hinted to the commissioner right there that you weren't serious about tonight. Then I stole your cell phone, made sure you got here late and bang, now Cross is dead and you're breathing your last few breaths."

"On the contrary, Bolton," he spit, "that's probably you. You're the bad guy."

"Then why haven't you shot yet?" Troy asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Why have you not killed me? Don't answer, I can tell you why."

"You, Danforth, are a coward," he said with a smile. "You won't kill me because that will make you bad and you're afraid to be bad. You're always afraid, always, always, always. You take stupid risks, but not where they count and that's why you're alone. That's why you're married to the force."

Troy laughed bitterly. "That's why you're the only person on your team. The entire fucking City knows about us, is involved in some way shape or form and you really thought you could make a difference? People in The City fear us and the ones who don't know what we do love us. It's that fucking perfect. Did you really think that you could wave your magic wand and chance it all? No, you're blue and we're read and you have no offense, defense and no goalie. Even Taylor's on our side."

With that, Chad bounded forward and forced Troy against the wall, his gun pressed to his head and his hand around his neck. Troy's face showed his surprised and Chad glared down at him in anger, his leg throbbing with white hot pain, but he ignored it.

"You motherfucker!" Chad hissed lowly, "I can't believe you! I can't believe...I can't believe I thought you were a good man."

With that, Chad began to cry. What was _good_ anymore? There was no such thing. The one person he had thought to be on his side, the one who he felt could help him get through all of this, was the one who had been behind it all along. It was sick. Chad felt weak, he felt dizzy, yet he continued to hold Troy by the neck and shoulders, increasing his pressure.

Troy writhed in his grasp, his face turning blue as his hands tried desperately to pry Chad's off from around his neck. Shit, Chad was strong, much stronger than he had anticipated.

"It's over, Bolton," Chad said, pressing his gun into Troy's temple even harder. He poised his hand over the trigger.

With a sharp bang and a pop, a gun went off. Blood splattered against the wall and his body collapsed to the floor.

Gabriella fell to the ground, her knees suddenly weak and jelly like. Tears flooded her vision and she began to shake and hyperventilate. What the fuck had just happened? Oh, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? Burying her face in her hands, she shuddered violently, trying to grasp the fact that her world just fell apart.

"Fuck!" Kelsi screamed, standing up. She too, was shaking, her heart speeding in her chest. "We need to get out of here and we need to get out of here now! Fuck you guys, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Sharpay merely laughed, the last of her sanity disappearing. "Oh god," she said, slumping against the wall and holding her sides as she laughed manically. "Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell have we done? What have we done?"

Zeke grabbed her as she slid to the ground, holding her up in his arms as she alternated sobbing wildly and laughing. He looked up at Ryan, the colour draining from his face rapidly as the thick scent of copper blood filled the room. "We need to get out of here."

But Ryan did not say anything, his eyes fixed on the crumpled girl on the floor. Her shoulders trembled as she shook "Gabriella?" he asked tentatively and Zeke placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave her," he whispered, but Ryan glared at him.

"But—"

Suddenly, Gabriella felt two trembling, strong arms wrap around her frail shoulders and she was pulled against their chest. Their shirt was soaked with warm blood and his breathing heavy and shallow. She lifted her head from hand and looked up unto the watery blue eyes that stared back at her in shock and disbelief.

Into the eyes of her husband.

"Gabriella," Troy whispered and she glanced over his shoulder at the broken and bloodied body of Chad Danforth, a gaping wound on his back from where she shot him. She began to cry again and the gun she had been holding slipped from her fingers to the ground with a clatter. Troy watched it fall and then looked back up at her.

"Gabriella," he searched her eyes, "what did...how did..._why_?"

She collapsed into him then, her chest heaving with sobs. "He was going to kill you, Troy!" she gasped through her tears, "I saw the look in his eyes, he was going to kill you! I couldn't lose you, Troy, I _love _you. You're my family. I-I co-couldn't watch you die."

Troy licked his lips slowly. There were so many questions running through his mind starting with where Gabriella had gotten the gun and how she had managed to shoot Chad in the split second he had hesitated before putting more pressure of the trigger of his own gun. What happened now? There were two dead bodies surrounding them of two of the most notorious men in The City. How could they even begin to cover this up?

But as he felt her tears pool on his shirt, mixing with Chad's blood, he realized there was only one thing he could do. And so he grabbed her face and kissed her, so hard her dry lips cracked and bruised. She kissed him back just as fervently, her teeth clashing with his and he crushed her against him, before scooping her up in his arms and standing.

Looking around the room at the people, bloodied and broken, Troy sighed. He could take no time to figure out what to do next.

He just had to do it.

"Let's go."

---

You know what they say. Nice guys finish last.

Also, I hope someone picked up on where the title came from. It's subtle, but I put a lot of thought into it.

THANK YOU FOR READING. *is going to die now* Epilogue next and then I can put this sucker to bed.


	5. Epilogue

---

**Stroke**

Epilogue

---

She had no idea why she was reading the newspaper clipping that had been published after it all happened a month ago. Why she was reliving the pain that was still fresh. But she was and as she stared at the small scrap, she tried to make sense of it all.

_Police confirmed Monday evening that the remains of Chief Chad Danforth and Jason Cross were discovered at The City Harbor earlier that morning. The on going investigation started two weeks ago, upon the disappearance of both men. Foul-play is suspected, but no leads have been found. The newly appointed Chief of Police, Troy Bolton, promises that they are working round the clock to put the murderers away._

"_It is our number one priority," he said in a statement Tuesday. "I promise that..."_

Bullshit. Promises were made to be broken, especially those made by Troy Bolton. It was ridiculous, really, how easily the whole thing had been covered up. How with the flick of a magic wand, they were able to hide the whole thing. Dump the bodies in the harbor, was their instruction, plain and simple, nothing else had to be done. And it had worked, no one had suspected them.

She had healed her wounds, slowly, but surely. It was so difficult to get the images out of her head. The gunshots, the blood, the screaming, the image of Chad Danforth's lifeless body sinking to the bottom of the lake in front of her. The way the heel of her shoe had snapped as she ran, clinging to her husband's arm and crying.

The raid, though it had been done hundreds of time, had so much of a larger affect on her than she expected, but at the same time, it made sense. This one was different...there was blood on _everyone's_ hands this time, not just her own. Everyone was at fault and now everyone was going to have to realize what they had done to keep their power.

They had killed two innocent men all because they couldn't give it up. All because their fucking father's started this bullshit from being bored and they had entrusted it to them and family was too fucking important to give up.

_Family_, she thought with a scoff, shoving the clipping back into the shoebox. What a crock. Why she had kept the clipping, she didn't know. Perhaps it was a memento, something to remind her of just how bad things had gotten. But things had only gotten worse, the weight only heavier and life only harder. She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't do this anymore.

So from beneath love notes from her husband when they were young and infinitely happy, she pulled out the silver revolver she had kept hidden for so long.

Pressing it to her temple, she placed her finger on the trigger and with a loud pop, her life was over.

In her hand was a note with three simple words on it. Three words that said it all.

"_I love you."_

---

_A little over a year later_

After the dark, grey period of the world that was the Middle Ages, Italy exploded with colour and vibrance in an age known as the Renaissance. The period would produce some of the world's greatest artists and thinkers, Brunelleschi, Michaelangelo, Bottecelli. Each one displayed remarkable new skills in the fields of art and architecture, bringing to light the beauties of the classical past of the Greeks and the Romans.

The term 'starving artist' wasn't one that was necessarily coined for these men, however. They were paid for their work, quite well in fact. The very best of them were commissioned by the Medici.

The Medici family ruled all of Florence during the time of the Renaissance, though none of them were monarchs. In quite the contrast, they were merchants, and very successful ones at that, owning the largest bank in all of Italy. Their rise to power was quick and impossible to break down, their hold on Florence practically unrivaled for decades. But they didn't play fairly and many of their years as a political dynasty were filled with betrayal and blood shed, going as far as to infiltrate the papacy, all in the name of keeping the power alive.

Sometimes, Troy felt an awful lot like the Medici. If he was being specific, and sometimes he was, his father had been Giovanni di' Medici, the founder of the Medici bank. He had been the one to lay down the ground work, start it all. Troy had been Cosimo di' Medici, Giovanni's son—the one who expanded on his father's work and really got the ball rolling.

However, it was Lorenzo di' Medici, the son of Cosimo, that would really shake things up in Renaissance Italy. Troy shuddered at the thought of his _own_ Lorenzo. Of having someone surpass the evils he had done.

He contemplated these comparisons one afternoon as he watched the birds from his office window. The birds had situated themselves on his windowsill the afternoon he was appointed Chief of Police of The City three days before Chad Danforth's body floated to shore in the harbor and five after Jason Cross' elaborate funeral. There were two, both black ravens, and they would arrive shortly after Troy's shift for the day started and would leave the moment he stepped out of the door.

Day in and day out, the birds were there, watching Troy's every move. To say it was disconcerting was a vast, vast understatement. The birds looked at him as if they knew what he had did, as if they knew who he was, and after a little over a year of having their presence constantly lingering, Troy was pretty certain that he knew who _they_ were.

And they continued to watch him, watch as he lied through his teeth to the commissioner, watch as he ducked out early for the day for meetings at El Stravos. Things hadn't changed much since the day that changed their lives forever, aside from Sharpay's death, which had been both shocking and heartbreaking.

Her death, though somewhat expected and appropriate, was a blow to their group. Ryan and Zeke had been in pieces for months, only now just rebuilding themselves. They had lost a key member of their team, the one who was always ready to put her best face forward and take the most daring leap. He still remembered how he had retched upon arriving at she and Zeke's apartment to pick her up for a meeting at El Stravos, Zeke being unable to do so, and discovering her dead in her walk in closet. There among the jewels and the dresses and the shoes that she loved, lying in a puddle of her own blood, she was finally at peace. But knowing that she was peaceful didn't make it easier to move on.

So they continued to do what they were doing, though it all seemed in vain now. The Boltons were still in power, maybe even more so now that Troy had been promoted to the Chief of Police. He had complete control of the entire City.

His father would have been proud.

Troy however, wasn't. Certain elements, certain things, certain _people_; had made it difficult for them to continue on. While they still conducted raids, while they still invested and exploited people's money, it was on a much, much smaller scale. They were pickier, choosier; selecting only those who they knew were reliable, trust worthy. They didn't want to have a repeat performance of the raid with Danforth and Cross.

Most of all, Troy didn't want more blood on Gabriella's hands.

She had stolen the gun from his room, she admitted later that night after the raid, after they had pushed the bodies into harbor and Troy had undressed her, slipping her into the hot bath and trying desperately to stop her hysterical cries. She had taken it just in case, she said, just in case something like that had happened. She cried for hours, trembling and shaking, vomiting and trying to sleep, a thin sheet of cold sweat covering her body. Troy held her the entire time, trying to comprehend that in his arms was a woman who loved him so much that she killed for him.

She took someone's life. Now she had to carry that weight. For weeks after, as hard as she tried, she found herself absolutely crushed by it. For a long time, Troy thought he was going to lose her.

And then a miracle had happened.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Troy sighed, hoping desperately that time would go by faster. He was sick of sitting in this room, the one Chad had occupied for so long. He was sick of being watched, the birds waiting for him to slip up so that they could mock and laugh at him. He needed to get out of this lie, the one that painted him as a good guy.

Troy would never think of himself as good ever again. He turned to the birds, the ones that were still staring at him blankly. Didn't they ever eat? Hang out with other birds? There wasn't even a nest here!

"Shoo!" he shouted, rapping at the glass with his knuckles. The birds didn't flinch, instead pecking at the window pane with their beaks. Troy ran a hand through his hair. Damn. They were awfully disconcerting.

"Knock knock!" a sweet voice said. Troy's heart picked up speed and he turned around quickly, smiling brightly when he saw Gabriella standing there, feeling his anxiety diminish. Her long dark hair was straightened and pulled up into a ponytail and she wore a soft purple and blue floral dress. She was practically glowing as she met him half way and kissed him gently on the lips.

"Hey," he said softly, pulling back. "How are you?"

"I'm great," she beamed back at him and he felt his heart swell even further. She was so happy now and for so long, he thought he'd never see her smile again. Now the smile was brighter, bigger and slightly larger than he had ever imagined. Still, he yearned to see her real smile, the one she had displayed when their life was free of violence and evil. Yet each day, he caught a glimpse of it, of that real smile, and he knew that a big part of that had to do with the warm, squirming bundle in her arms. She turned her attention to it. "Someone wanted to see his daddy."

He looked down at the small bundle and laughed as it broke into giggles, looking back at him with big, clear blue eyes. So tiny and delicate, with a tuff of black hair on his head, Troy swallowed as he felt his heart thump, realizing he was staring at his would-be Lorenzo.

Shoving the thoughts aside, he grinned at his son who gurgled in excitement when he picked him up out of Gabriella's arms. "Is that so?" he asked, lifting the baby in the air and dangling him over his head. "Getting sick of mommy's soap operas, Ben?"

"Troy!" Gabriella said, placing a hand on his wrist to lower his arms. "He just ate! You're going to make him throw up."

"Yikes," Troy pulled a face. "That wouldn't be fun for me or him." He cuddled Ben to his chest and the baby rested his head in the crook of Troy's neck, nuzzling his skin and cooing. Troy's heart felt so full he thought it might burst. He was holding a baby,_ their_ baby, their _son_.

He never in a million years imagined this would happen, never imagined that he would be so blessed. He didn't deserve it.

Ben had been a miracle, to say the least. Just like no doctor could explain Gabriella's infertility, not one could explain how they were able to conceive. Yet they were; the night they spent together before the raid, before the murders of Jason and Chad, had resulted in a new life. Funny, he thought, that they had exchanged two innocent lives for that of a new one. It made him shiver to think about it and he kissed Ben's forehead, trying to stop his brain from over analyzing.

Ben was five months old and to say he saved Gabriella's life was an understatement. From her depression she picked herself up upon discovering she was with child, her child. It was inexplainable why someone like she, someone who had killed, was being granted what she had wanted for so long. In many ways, she thought it vastly unfair—had this happened years ago, chances were they would never have been in this mess to begin with. At the same time, she didn't deserve to be so happy. She readily embraced her pregnancy, seeing it for the wonder that it was.

Troy had been more apprehensive. It wasn't that he wasn't excited about the baby, he was, but it was a curse at the same time. This left a blood line, this left a name. This left the inevitable pressure to continue what they were doing. This left a Lorenzo.

But after the first time Troy held Ben in his arms, he knew he was wrong. Staring at his sweet face, he knew there was no way their son could be capable of such things. He was certain of it.

Handing their son back to Gabriella, Troy smiled softly. Ben instantly grabbed a strand of her hair and she winced, causing Troy to laugh. "Is everything all set?" Troy asked.

"For later?" Gabriella asked and he nodded. "Yeah, we're meeting the others at El Stravos at six. To discuss the raid Ryan and Zeke are conducting on Saturday." She bit her lip. "I'm um, going to drop Ben off at the baby-sitter's."

Troy met her gaze and nodded in agreement. "Of course. We don't want him there."

"No," she said adamantly, shaking her head. Ben shifted in her arms and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. She took a deep breath. "It's harder than ever now."

Troy's eyes fixated on Ben's hands, so small, tiny and innocent. No blood was on them, no pain, no suffering, no sorrow. He was perfect, a blank canvas, totally free from sin. He took a deep breath, imaging this tiny person at El Stravos years from now. The thought killed him.

"I know, babe," he said, stepping forward and kissing her cheek. "I know. Let me get my stuff. I'll be right out."

She nodded sadly, the smiles gone from her face as she stepped out of the office into the hallway. Troy sighed and turned around, unsurprised to see the birds staring back at him. Walking over to the window, Troy looked at them, black and dark in their mystery.

One of the bird's cocked it's head at him and Troy pressed his forehead to the glass. "You were right, you know," he whispered, "about your Spiderman complex. Some things..." he let out a shaky breath, "some things are too important to risk."

He glanced back at a picture of Gabriella and Ben on his desk, one that he had taken while Gabriella was rocking Ben to sleep one evening without her consent. It was his favourite picture in the entire world for it held everything he ever could imagine. Everything he ever wanted.

It held his invitation for redemption.

"I don't think..." he sighed as the bird's black eyes blinked up at him, "I don't think we can do this anymore. I don't think we _will_ do this anymore."

At his words, the bird pecked the glass in response and Troy turned, grabbing his keys and walking out the door. He found Gabriella out in the hallway, seated in a chair and playing peekaboo with Ben. Troy leaned against the doorframe and watched.

Their hands, Gabriella's thin and small, once covered in blood and gun powder. The ones that had gripped his in danger, the ones that had run up and down his body in passion. The ones that had killed for him. She covered her eyes with them and then removed them, laughing animatedly as Ben clapped.

His hands. Tiny. Innocent. New. Troy felt himself shudder.

There would not be blood on his son's hands. He refused. That boy was a miracle. He could not allow for him to walk along the path he was destined to go down.

He noticed that the laughter had ceased and that two pairs of eyes were staring back at him. One was Gabriella's, her warm brown filled with love and admiration. The other were Ben's, blue and clear, full of innocence and curiosity.

"Hey," Gabriella said, standing up and making her way over to him. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Troy said, nodding, "did you bring a stroller?"

She shook her head, adjusting Ben so he lay against her chest. "No, it's in the car. I figured I'd just carry him since we weren't going to be long."

"Makes sense," Troy said, reaching out to take the baby. "Let me carry him for a while, though, give your arms a break."

"Thanks," she said softly, settling their son into his arms. She pecked his cheek softly and the two fell into step as they headed out of the office. "So, Zeke and Ryan are really adamant about finishing up this raid this weekend, so they have quite a few things they want to go over."

Troy glanced around, making sure that no one had overheard, before nodding in agreement. "Sounds good, sounds good. We'll go over that with them and then I think there's something else we should all talk about."

He glanced down as Ben squirmed in his arms, snuggling further into his chest. Troy felt his heart skip a beat. He needed to protect him.

"Oh yeah?" Gabriella asked, raising an eyebrow. "What about?"

As they stood waiting for the elevator, he glanced up from staring at Ben to meet Gabriella's confused eyes. "Just about...about how I'm thinking it's time we move."

Stepping into the elevator, Gabriella felt the ground fall out from beneath her feet. "W-what?"

"Well, Ben will start crawling soon and the apartment is too small. He needs some more room to move around and I was thinking maybe a backyard would be nice, too," Troy explained. "I was...I'm thinking it's time we left The City."

As the doors closed behind them, Gabriella burst into tears.

On the windowsill, the birds fluttered away.

---

I wanted to have this up sooner, but I ended up thinking over three different endings, one similar to this one and one completely different. After much deliberation and some help from others, I finally decided one very similar to this, but once I introduced Ben, it sort of took a life of it's own and quite honestly, I'm more happy with it than I would have been with any other ending.

I have some thank yous which are very, very important. This fic was extraordinarily hard for me to write in many ways and so many people contributed.

Firstly, thank you (as always) to Jacqui. The amount of time you put into helping me research and plan out this fic was brilliant. Whether it was listening to me pitch the idea while we attempted to bake cupcakes or watch dozens of action movies with me, I appreciate it so much. Thank you for letting me bounce ideas and concepts off of you and for answering the phone everytime I called to ask, 'does this make sense? does this work?' and not get annoyed when I hung up right after. I know I say this everytime, but this time it really, really rings true: I honestly do not think I could have written this without your support and help.

Secondly, I couldn't have done this without the support, encouragement and kind words of the wonderful Kerry, who read parts two, three and the epilogue before publication and helped me decide on an ending. Thank you so much for reading so thoroughly and helping as much as you did, I honestly don't think I could have even picked an ending if it were not for your input. I appreciate it so much and am so ridiculously thankful to know you.

To Kelly, Van and all of the girls at FF; your absurdly kind reviews, support and excitement have made writing this such a great experience for me. You were what kept me going when I was ready to abandon it after part one.

To Anna Ternheim, Bim, The xx and Florence + the Machine; thank you for writing such beautiful music to help inspire me to write. A million and three thank yous go your way.

To everyone who read and reviewed, you rock my socks. :)


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